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i 115187 



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THE SAN FRANCISCAN 



FEBRUARY 16, B84. 



J 



-NO. i. 




e PRICE.'V EN CENTS 



CONTENTS. 



ORIGINAL ARTICLES: 

Tap Carson Fossil-Footprints Mark Twain 

Twi Crime of England against Ireland Hon. Thos. Fitch 

Stkance Hawaiian Traditions Hon. U. M. Daggett 

Cai ifor-jia; A Pioneer's Lecture i.> h . People on their Duties 

, Hon. C. C. Goodwin 

ThpjRki >rtek's Rbv'engr Sam Davis 

jJHlV tub Gold Gulcti "Nk« SusPBjtftjt.. \rthur M. Lwen 

^J'hk. British Colony [IHustratedj.' Thomas F.. Flynn 

■Shi Orh in of the TiiA-l'i ant; A Chiatse Fairy 'Tale 

t ^-..Translated l>y Luly A. Littleton 

1 T x I '.acts from "Persia," an Unpublished Poem Anna M. Fitch 

I • Pkack.m , ...:..>.. Ina D. Coolbrith 

S|tv Faith ,••« Joseph T. Coodman 

14 Moonlight on the 1 v An Unpublished Poem by " Dion." 

5Stl]t Ampkk a* Hoc. A. S. Young 

Pini -s i ,'kf.i Methods in the Mm \ i 

The Rkce'j P. uj'aii [After •' sivleof the "Bulletin."' 

A Rt-x;uj.».K*Hor.i,oo 

A i\EA !. ) \ '■ I OR -i ,_ i. 

ThR TlAV oF A .fhl ll..'. . . . . 

Api-RobA i ion for the \i hi i: i - ; .' I; ;i .ti ;, ,|. ] . . . 

,'*ditoHi al— lntrodui ■■■•<y. The Field ( '•;i,«pir.t> y : Mr. Foote's Report: 

r 

SBI.KC TED a4Ui I e ■ 

Brahma. W\ 



THE BRITISH COLONY. 



BY THOMAS F. . FLYNN. 



The "British Colony" was the subject of a highly interesting 
: rticle which recently appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle. 
I he writer of the contribution succeeded, only as far as the limited 
- n mint of space allowed him would permit, in doing his subject 
i> .lice. V ( 'e therefore take the liberty of supplementing th •ncii- 
r\. Urn's work of the Ci o.ii<le with e. small tribute of typo n : ,i 
fe friendly Contributions/)! our penc il. Although the C.iony 
delves its material s.rtport front,- the metropolis t imparl.': the 
c o«3e of its sociality to the capital of M. i m . „.n.y: 'The days 
of ucCJoJonistsarc p:a, sed in rt>e rush nn«l t-irmoil and smoke of 
it lie i rent city, but thejf even in i« t' "I'-e in the healthful 
BMti nci«5M the s< »-i»l "I refinement of their 

rtilive load »te ■H i' «ii. f Tamalpais. 1 here, 

fjlxhvd >"4 ' ■ ' ' •>• ' •■■ " • - t <>ut from the uffensivc 
jEtt'ilU^'': , >"U> , 'v . ■•X .;ic't of the- water.-, the 

iTiik'.ui Jhj "•■::i ci.}! • • t>h >b?J delightful freedom 

■UtMBB;t«i ..i i,- ari>i.<ralic gathering of 

' --k tflilhis diurnal pto- 

gK' 1 ' i HngrMl civilization is 

• ■! ■oi. genial mob on the 
Vd\N>Jtet. -'it; si etch -ndcJ'-ored 

jPfct M ' I -i itish ci li nial life, 





his energies to the evolution of a ncjw process for -shed -ling tight 

pantaloons. Like all 
establish men t s, t h[c 
Colony has had its vi- 
cissitudes of fortune. 
Very serious was the 
blow dealt it some time 
ago by Captain San- 
derson, the celebrated 
Australian crick tcr. 
The Capta'i bsxring 
passed the required 
year of probation in 
suburban football 
matches, and inspired 
confidence in his fit- 
'^.ness to engage in the 
* ■» noble game of cricket, 
"as played at Lord's 
bring hi . bat to Ihe Coi/my. 
brilliant trhth&inS wk"<I to 





mil <ivg 



t a Im Her who 
the cellar of a 
•net — so much 
his indulgent 
[e to Australia, 
revailing fash- 
hed to a ba! 1 




dive Colo,. t< Ijesc , , )y 
rded as the v <intIcr of 
on who gave fo, . . j 
exil ■ 1 comitr) meh '. )r 
['ptdition-, of their livev 
jut with Mr.- Nicholson, 
Uj studying the latest 
he o'her devotinq; his 



in Lunnon.yoti know,'' was invited t 
His first exploit, in the presence of 
outrage the most sacred tradit ions 
livelier movements with all the mini 
coarseness of the Australian bush. 

The ! Id* -,m 
of the 
son's L i 
require^ 
adroitn 
exiles o t ihe 

liaiwcr, 

genuine e>-C.i| 
/»»s=a and the 

/ X * from I '° ' ' ' 

J^>. to restort 

' Colony. ' 

was the engage 
fv^jw/ neen attacj 

\ rea ' ^ cv '' 

attached, ii 1. 
master p 
where, followin 
ion, he becam, 

and chain. '1'he master-stroke, how- 
ever, was the introduction of a prop- 
erly accredited curate, shipped fr- >'n 
the fashionable ^V , est Eire parish of 
St. Martha's-in-the-back-ccllar, Pic- 
cadilly, London, N. S. W. The 
presentation of this dignitary, bear- 
ing the Custom-house stamp, and clad in the habiliments of gen- 
■ •el |ioverty that distinguish the back seats of the .Church of. 
England, restored the dignity of the exiled fraternity. « The Col- 
ony was too much of asocial necessity to be ostracised for I In 
faux pas, and after Mr. Beasley hail run into the Palace Hotel, 
a few times with a lawn-tennis bat in his hand, to give the 
impression that a sporting nobleman was in town, the mail to 
San Rafael grew heavier than ever with richly engraved cards 
and perfumed notes. The subordination of capital to pedigree 
is the cement of ISritish society, and the giant cement of J^ie San 
Rafael Colony, where blue blood is more plentiful thari beer. 

Every member of the San Rafael colony, to be sure, cannot sport 
a coronet on his note-paper, but no onehas ever been admitted who 
was unable to give evidence of having kept his hunter in "tin- 
old country" and been in rightful possession of a Coat-of-arms. 
As many of our readers have never seen a faithful picture of the 
high-bred English hunter, so often and proudly referred to by 
members of the Colony, and Pritish exiles in general, we publish 
the following life-like portrait of the animal: 

This high-met- 
tled charger of 
fences was ridden 
for several years 
to the Yorkshire 
hounds by that 
prominent Colo- 
nist, Mr. Willis J. 
Currier. A photo- 
graph of the fam- 
ous lrtinter is one 
of the ornaments 
of the principal 
boarding houses 
at San Rafael, ant 
is so lifelike and 
full of tender reminiscences that no visiting Uriton can look 
at it without shouting "Yoicks! Tally ho! any old pots 
to mend!" and other familiar London sporting »phrases. The 
fc iuin, it will be seen, has gone away and left the intelligent 
t"°v;K spirited animal tied to the family wagonette, which a 
painttx U about to emblazon with the ancestral arms. These 



can ;.lso be seen lying around. Knowing tbadJ^Hsny heart- 

burnings|arc caused in "society circles" by financial inability 
to visit these grand, gloomy anc estral structures, oP which so 
much has been heard, we have obtained, at great expense, this 
sketch of Hamton Manor and its cleer park, the country home of 
the Countess of liutterville, with the Countess herself.. 





The Hamton Manor will, some day, be the inheritance of that 
deservedly popular Colonist, Mr. lllackie, through whose inter- 
cession, Mr. Carey Kriedlander has been invited by the Countess, 
to spend the summer holidays with hci . Mr. P.easley, aficr land- 
ing at Liverpool, was hospitably received by the Countess, and 
<;pcnt several weeks deerstalking in the highlands to the rear of 
ihe Manor, the domain being situated on one of those picturesque 
eminences that slope up from the celebrated soap-works at liirken- 
head, where the Karl of Hamton, literally speaking, has a fat po- 
siton? 

Another strange omission of the Chronicle 1 ? contributor is the^ 
absence of all reference to traveling British noblemen. The 
visits of these adventurous peers are the life of the San Rafael 
Colony, through the medium of which alone the 
notables of Nob Hill can reach them. As but a 
fe* San Franciscans are in such fortunate cir- 
cumstances that they can ^-ver hope to rub 
elbows wilh a real English aristocrat, we gener- 
i.„ oflcr this, picture of the celebrated Lord 
Traytosseu. at home. 

His Lordship, is the first cousin of a very popu- 
lar British resident, and, in ,'act, is more or less 
distantly related to the en '*c San Rafael Colony. 
His visit to this coast <•,.■■( u\ cpiite an epidemic 
of Anglo-mania, and htoug l theColony intosuch 
demand on Nob Hill that, between late suppers 
and protracted dances, l\. •■■ were several vacan- 
cies in the insurance cwi ships when his Lord- 
<* ship left. Following the route taken by the ma- 

jority of his distinguished predecessors, 1 id Traytosseur, after 
bidding adieu to Nob Hill, went to the Smi Joaquin valley, and 
when last heard ol was traveling in ihe wool- interests. 






These facts, although but 'he outlines of history, will, we are 
certain, show the superficially of the Chrutiie&t article, interest- 
ing as it w*, nnd fair as it strove to be. 



T 



FRANCISCAN. 



THE CRIME OF ENGLAND. 



BY HON. THOMAS FITCH. 



It needs no words of mine to commend the cause of 
Irish Nationalism to either Irishmen or the descendents 
of Irishmen. And I count these as one, because, to quote 
a bull I once heard, "every Irishman loves his native 
land, whether he was born there or not." Nor is the Irish- 
man a worse citizen of America because his heart goes out 
to Ireland in her struggle, any more than was Lafayette, 
less a true Frenchman because he aided the cause of 
freedom in America. So far from criticising Irish-Ameri- 
cans for aiding Ireland, I feel rather like chiding American- 
Americans who are indifferent to the contest for life and 
freedom now going on across the Atlantic. . American 
citizens are under implied moral obligation'* tpJjtob^thUtf 
with all people everywhere who struggle for liberty.- 'We 
are the Princes and the Knights of Liberty, and the ^old 
chivalric motto of XoMesse oblige applies'.*} .Vvjuypver 
manhood struggles against class opprcss'ioh'; wherever/ the 
enslaved seek to burst their chains; wherever human 
liberty is assailed ; there the hearts of Americans should 
be found throbbing in behalf of those who are in bonds. 
And in so far as we can aid them without imperiling the 
peace of our land ; in so far as we can aid them with 
speech and sympathy and counsel, and last, but not 
least, cash — such aid should be freely extended. 

In the performance of such duty toward Ireland we are 
certainly not hampered with any obligations of gratitude, 
so far as the British government is concerned. I know that 
it is customary in social and business intercourse to ignore 
the little differences which have existed between us and 
England at different limes during the last century. And 
sometimes at official banquets the representatives of both 
England and America assure each other of the brotherly 
love of the people of each country toward the other— and 
usually both speakers are lying, and both know it. As a 
matter of fact, we remember George the Third, and Eng- 
land has not yet commenced to erect statues to George 
Washington. We remember the wai of iSxY, and England 
has '»-/.. AirgOiten the tattle 01 New Orleans. We remem- 
ber the Alabama, and England has fifteen million memo- 
ries of the Alabama award. We remember how England 
derided and insulted us for many years concerning a fault 
which was a fault of her own begetting; and when at last 
the hour of struggle came to us, then Exeter Hall went out 
of business; the sympathy shops for the slave closed their 
doors; tbe shups feu the sale of arms and munitions ol 
war to help slavery opened theirs; and British cruisers, 
under Confederate flags, dotted the Atlantic with the 
wrecks of our destroyed merchantmen and lit the Arctic 
ocean with the llames of our burning whalers. England's 
aid to the Confederacy cost North and South together two 
years more of war, half a million more of dead, and a 
thousand millions more of money. Nor does the South 
owe England any good-will for such aid, for it was a 
sordid, cold-blooded business transaction ; and now that 
North and South are united, and keeping one set of books, 
the account may as well be consolidated and charged in 
one sum against our ancient stepmother. 

But American aid for Ireland — lawful aid, honest aid, 
aid that will break no law of nations or of humanity — is 
invoked now, not for the narrow reason that England has 
wronged us in the past, but for the broad reason that she 
continues to wrong Ireland in the present. I do not doubt 
that such aid will be given by all Americans who are made 
acquainted with the facts, but we do not always get at the 
facts. We Americans are a nation of newspaper readers. 
We gather our impressions of English and Irish politics 
from the cable dispatches. The cable dispatches are com- 
piled from the London journals ; and London journalists, 
in chronicling and commenting upon Irish affairs, are not 
always inspired by that sacred and habitual veneration for 
truth which is M. distinguishing characteristic of all 
American newspaper reciters. 

Kight-thinking men of whatever nationality are opposed 
to unlawful violence and irresponsible secret assault. 
Murder can find few defenders in America, whether such 
murder be perpetrated by the dagger of the assassin or by 
purchased witnesses and a packed jury. But I defy any 
American citizen, I care not what may be his politics or 
religion, to read Irish history, past and present, and not 
feel his blood boil with indignation, and his judgment in- 
cline to regard without much censure the Irishman who 
longs to bring a knowledge of the science of explosives to 
bear upon the stolidity of the British government and the 
solidity of British government buildings. When I say 
Irish history, I do not mean such history as written by 
English pens. I do not mean Irish history as concealed 
by the cunning sophisms of Froude, nor as distorted 
by the careful omissions of Hume, nor as softened and 
decorated by the splendid rhetoric of Macaulay; but 
Irish history as told in the dry and unpalliated records 
of English parliaments and courts; Irish history as written 
with English bayonet-points upon the soil of a devastated 
land; Irish history as recorded in the brave utterances 
and braver acts of the long line of heroes and martyrs 
who have baptized Ireland with their blood and rendered 
her name glorious with their memories. 

Several hundred years ago England invaded and con- 
quered Ireland, and the simple fact is that from that time 



until the 

practical u i 

general i \s s 
without any In 

yoke upon the '..ueva 
has never ceas . 10 seek an 
yoke. To the everlasting I 
that there has been no c et 



d has been in a condition of 
Ireland. Sometimes under 
• r special laws, sometimes 
ader has ever since kept his 
squished, and the vanquished 
"tpportunity to throw off the 
unor of TnsHincn be it said 
air ...1 insurrection 



against England, and no generation without plot and con- 
tinuous civil disturbance. Other peoples who were con- 
quered by England have assimilated with the conqueror 
or acquiesced in his rule, but the Irish people would never 
do either. Scotland, the Channel Islands, India, Canada, 
and the Antipodes all yieldunquestioning, or at least peace- 
ful, allegiance to the British crown, while Ireland is still as 
alien in spirit as in the days of Brian Boru. Pat would 
.not celebrate the opening of a free bridge across the Styx 
fihto the stiects of the New Jerusalem, if the ceremonies 
happened by accident or design to fall upon the Queen's 
birthday. This is partly the cause and partly the effect 
of the sevei py. of English methods of dealing with Ireland. 
Never. 'sin,ce ^arthage was destroyed by Rome has there 
been exhibited such cruelty, such rapacity and such 
brutal selfishness by the conquerer toward the conquered 
as has been displayed by England toward Ireland for 
seven hundred years. Religions have changed, conditions 
have changed, and the forms of oppression have ch.inged, 
but the fact of oppression has remained unchanged. 
Civilization has not abated it, and time has not ameliorated 
it. The Agnostic now openly derides the churchman, 
and the shop-keeper with his account-book has taken the 
place of the warrior with his mail ; bur me tyranny of 
England over Ireland remains the same as in the centuries 
that have gone. Each generaticP of Englishmen have 
apologized for the acts of their arcestors, and each gener- 
ation of Englishmen have invented new methods of oppres- 
sion to take the places of those they abolished, until 
to-day the Irish peasant js as much the victim of English 
rapacity and brutality as was his ancestor whom the 
soldiers of Cromwell hunted from mountain to bog. A 
writ of eviction is often as sure death to its victim as a 
sword would be, and not so merciful. A (jacked jury and 
purchased witnesses will do the work of injustice and 
blood as thoroughly as they can be done by the more 
s.immary processes of non-judicial murder. Through all 
changes of plan England has never lost sight of the fact 
that the political power of a country is in the owners of its 
soil, : 1 she has never ceased to so legislate and so 
adnv -T her laws as to prevent Irishmen from owning 
Iris! She has never ceased to so legislate and so 

adr istei u er laws as to urevent the t-iospcrity of Ireland, 
and iO cr 'It to any Irish footstep which lias turned 
toward h ■ 'dependence by the road of material prog- 
ress. Th ; . ' y has been woven into the very fabric of 
English th , ..nd whether under Whig or Tory, Liberal 
or ConserVative, Tudor or Stuart, Puritan or Cavalier, the 
House of Brunswick or the House of Hanover, the Georges 
or Victoria, Beaconsfield or Gladstone, the dominant idea 
of English statesmen has been that Irish manufactures 
must be prevented or destroyed, that all Irish industries 
except cultivation of the land must be discouraged, that 
the land must be kept from Irish ownership, and that 
Ireland must remain under the ban. 

Whatever the future may bring forth, the record which 
England has made concerning Ireland is a record that 
can never be extenuated or effaced. In the palace of the 
Medicis, at Florence, stands a bronze statue representing 
Cain bending over the lifeless form of Abel. The face of 
the first murderer presents its awful lines exactly as they 
were modeled and graven hundreds of years ago. Since 
then nations have changed their rulers, their boundaries 
and their forms of rule; the map of Europe has been 
remodeled; dynasties have risen and fallen, and genera- 
tions have lived and died ; but the wicked and cruel ex- 
pression which the artist placed upon the face of Cain 
remains as fresh as when Lorenzo the Magnificent first 
placed it in his palace beside the Arno. So stands Bri- 
tannia in the gallery of the ages, with the record of her 
awful and continued crime against Ireland graven by the 
chisel of history upon her brow forever, and the waters of 
all the waves she rules can never wash out the tell-tale 
lines. 

Let the reader imagine himself to be an Irish Catholic, 
living in Ireland under the laws which were enacted by 
England for the government of Irishmen less than two 
hundred years ago, and many of which existed and were 
inforced as late as 1820. Then, as now, four out of five 
of the people of Ireland were Catholics, and then, as now, 
the laws for their government were made by a Protestant 
Parliament in London. Now, suppose yourself, dear 
reader, to have been born and brought up in Ireland, a 
Catholic in religion, loving your father's faith, and loving 
your native land. You were told, when a boy, that there 
was an Act of Parliament which provided that if you 
would abjure the religion in which you were brought up 
and adopt that of the Church of England, then your 
father's estate might all be settled upon you, and your 
father prevented from selling or mortgaging it. But some- 
how you did not take much stock in a religion whose ad- 
vocates proposed to start you on your road to Heaven by 
inducing you to humiliate and distress your father 3^ 
rob your brothers and sisters. You had to violaf tw0 
out of the ten commandments, anyhow, to start m th - ^ ou 



thought there'.^ ^ tie mistake about tn? aceuiacy 

of that guide-boan.V <C,v, ami so you declined .17,0*- 
tatize. You grew to man«^>utt ;\ r * v«"rv well, educated, 
because your father did not Jhtnfc it right to *cnd y to 
a Church of England school, w here you would be require' i 
twice a day to repeat a. catechism to the efier; tliait'yci 
and all your family and friends acre liai-s and scoundrels, 
deserving only to be hanged in this world and burned in 
the next. A Catholic priest who was employed by your 
father as a private tutor was sent to jarVfor tt aching you 
the multiplication table, and your father yas 1 romised six 
months' imprisonment in the County jail it he nt you to 
school in France or Germany. Notwithstanc ng these 
obstacles, you managed by"stealth to pick up s< nething 
of an education, and you looked about you for a v cation 
in life. A political career was out of the question. 
could not hope to become a member of Parliament, for 
that body had enacted that no Irish Catholic should be 
allowed a seat in Parliament, or hold any office under the • 
British crown. You could not become a judge, lor no 
Irish Catholic was allowed a seat on the bench. You 
thought how grand a thing it would be to "sail the (£<fean 
blue," and in time wear an Admiral's hat ; but thewbld 
you at the Admiralty offices that an Irish Catholic mght 
die for England on the deck of one of her frigates, but Tic 
would have to die forward of the mainmast, and as a com- 
mon sailor only. In the army, however, you could get a 
better chance. If you were properly abject to your superior 
officers, you might in time rise to the position of a recruiting 
officer, and assist in beguiling others of your race and 
faith into enlisting ; but being an Irishman and a Catholic, 
though you had the ability of a Wellington and the 
bravery of a Marshal Ney, you could never wear the of- 
ficer's shoulder-straps. About this time you were sum- 
moned on a jury ; but as soon as you stated you were an 
Irish Catholic, your name was stricken from the list as in- 
eligible. There was an Englishman who was willing to 
hire you as a gamekeeper ; but being an Irish Catholic, 
you were not even to be allowed to sit under a hedge and 
watch his grouse. Then you gave up trying to procure 
any honest employment, and determined to become a 
lawyer; but the doors of every court -room, and every law 
school, and every attorney's office, were closed in your 
face. You descended lower and lower, and you went over 
to London and tried to organize an American mining cor- 
poration—limited ; but you found that Parliament had 
prohibited Irish Catholics from being members of corpo- 
rations. As for embarking in any manufacturing business; 
except the crowded and unprofitable linen trade, that was 
out of the question, for the Act of Parliament would not 
allow an Irish Catholic to take more than two apprentices, 
and hampered him besides in many ways. Finding all 
trades, professions and careers closed against you, you con- 
cluded to go to farming. Your father's farm had been takei 
away from him upon some complaint made by an En- 
glishman who fancied it. But there was an uncle of 
yours, a Protestant, living in England, who happened to 
own some land in Ireland. He died and left you the 
land; but you could not take it, tycmr ' ' milr 1 
not allow an Irish Catholic to inherit 1 ..,1 itst- 
ant. His widow then proposed to car. / out her deceased i 
husband's wishes and make you d Resent of the and. I 
The law, however, would not suffer you, being an Irish- 
man and a Catholic, to receive a j.ift of land from an 
English Protestant. Then your aun; offered to give you 
the money to buy back your father's farm, but the lu.vd 
stepped in and prevented an Irish Catholic from purcbWPH 
ing any land that had been confis'Jtted from amMfc- 
Catholic. At last you found that there was one tliinc^K >. 
only one thing, that you could lawfully ^nd safely aD| 
keep out of jail, and that was to rent a pie r e of taflflH 
farm it ; and then you would only be suffered \o^^^ 
farming it a profit equivalent to one-thifrX^f 
of the rent you paid. If you made any * , 
were required by law to pay over two-th 
to your landlord, or be evicted from tl 
ingly you rented a farm for three hundr 
and went to work. You did your be's 
subject and an honest man to prevent • 
ing more than one hundred poun( 
Like Tim Moore in the farce, yc 
clock that was always too slow, ar 
clock that was always too fast. Y 
the gates open and the fences d' 
could get into the potato field and 
at the corn. You kept all the feat civs i 
the fast days, and got drunk when^r yo < 
in despite of all your efforts to checiyiduitr 
thrift, nature was kind. Her sun*_*'P her • 1 
your fields as sweetly as tho* of jhur oj 
when you sold your harv*ts yot hid roi | 
more than one-third of your rent. You pa- tl 
dred pounds rent, a« d the bw al.-.mW<you .„| 
one hundred pou^ s P ron V touted . ndespn A 
made seventh pounds more, ou *g A, 

rounds of ► ,ls sum t0 , xnd to , )!UU B£i ' i\ I I 11 
ill and ' ere o etalne o a week; ar. 1 n the n jjll 1 
p n ^jirt Protestant, who knew 01 y«ur mx& J 
c X?ted your farm, reported your ia|unvjK>t '• %) 
nfty pounds in time, and took r^ss&sio^Qt ) 
and the law sustained him. And thcjro«*pest 
whole business was, that all EhgutomtX^ \ ' 
your efforts to comply with the 1 •»•» 'hey had i r \, 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



govern you, and went lying all ovei \*»f- world about you, 
They had enacted laws to drive you c ut of all professions, 
all trades, and all forms of industrv except tenant farming, 
and to force you to work only half time, and with halt" a 
heart at that; and after they had made you idle and un- 
thrifty by their tyranny and wicked laws, then they said 
to the world : " Look at that fellow. He is an Irishman 
by birth, and that is a great misfortune; but he insists on 
remaining a Catholic in religion, and that is his fault. 
Look at the ruinous effect of worshiping God in a house 
with a particular kind of steeple upon it. Look at the 
■ destroying results of appealing to Christ crucified in a coat 
that battons up to the throat. In a word, look at the 
consequences of Catholicism. He is an Irish Catholic, 
and of course he does not know enough to work at any 
thipg but farming. He does not half work at that. He 
does not lay up any thing. He is idle and ignorant. He 
u not fit to be trusted with self-government ; and it is 
therefore our Christian duty to continue to rob him of his 
liberty and his labor, to trample him under foot, and to 
drive him forth from the land where the bones of his 
fathers lie buried." 

Fortunately you were a bachelor. You loved a pretty 
Protestant girl, and were beloved by her. You both de- 
sired to marry, but Parliament had enacted that any Cath- 
olic priest who united an Irish Catholic to an English 
Protestant in marriage should not receive either a ten- 
dollar fee or a kiss from the bride, but instead thereof 
should be taken out and hanged; and as no Catholic 
priest was willing to make this little sacrifice for you, you 
were compelled to remain in single blessedness. Your 
sweetheart might indeed have become a Catholic out of 
love for you, but that would have been bad for you, for 
you would have been accused of inducing or causing her 
to change her faith ; and if found guilty of making her a 
convert to Catholicism, you would have been hanged. 

All this sounds like a grotesque fancy sketch, does it 
not ? It is but an unexaggerated illustration and sum- 
mary of the laws which existed in Ireland after the year 
1691, and many of which existed as late as the year 1829, 
when the persistence and tact and genius of the greatest 
orator, agitator and parliamentary leader of the century — 
Daniel O'Connell — wrested from the British government 
the reluctant concession of Catholic Emancipation. 

Ireland has not since suffered under all the evils which 
she endured prior to 1829, but she suffers t'o-day under 
evils which are the heirs and successors of the old ones, 
and which are almost as great. I shall attempt, before I 
conclude, to show what some of these evils are, and to 
criticise the course of the British government in persist- 
ently refusing to redress them. I say " British govern- 
ment," but the term is a misnomer; for that power which 
dares not in time of peace trust to its own lawful 
methods ot rule ; that power which legislates' in brazen, 
defiance of its own Constitution, first to pack a jury-box, 
and next to abolish trial by jury altogether, in order to 
punish the supposed perpetrators of a single and secret 
crime — such a power is, I repeat, not a government, but 
it is a Vigilance Committee calling itself a government ; 
it is a barbarism masquerading as a government ; it is an 
unlicensed Juggernaut upon the highway of sovereign 
power; and its boasted Constitution is but a flimsy fair- 
weather concern, reminding one of those gaudy colored 
advertising umbrellas seen in front of the shops : the pro- 
prietor always takes it in when it rains. 

Behold the naked iron hand of England choking the 
life out of Ireland from 1691 to 1829, and behold the same 
hand, with only a thin glove over its bloody knuckles, 
maintaining its clutch down to this present year of Our 
Lord, when Professor Goldwin Smith, in a magazine 
article, deliberately advocates the expatriation or exter- 
mination of Irishmen, and every English aristocrat and 
every American dude indorses the proposition. 

Who shall dare say, in the face of all this history, that 
the Irish are disorderly, turbulent and murderous rebels, 
undeserving of American sympathy or American help ? 

I am an American, proud to trace my genealogy through 
generations of Connecticut Yankee ancestors, and loving 
peace and order as well as freedom with all the instincts 
of the Puritan; but if I were an Irishman, with the recol- 
lection of the past and present wrongs of my race and 
creed ever resting upon my heart, though I would still 
recommend and support, as I do recommend and support, 
only peaceful, bloodless and constitutional measures of 
relief; though I would say then, as I say now, to him who 
sought to pursue other means : " Brother, stop ! the dyna- 
mite bomb is the weak and ineffective weapon of unwis- 
dom ; the aroused moral sentiment of the civilized world 
will prove a force more potent for Ireland's good than all 
there is of bursting shell and gleaming steel ; let the 
fcverlging blade pause, let the turrets of Westminster stand 
— not that we hate England less, but that we love Ireland 
more;" yet even while such words of peaceful counsel 
irere upon my lips, if I were an Irishman, might th 
Bvenging God smite the pulsing crimson back through its 
channels till these lips were as pallid as those lips of my 
famine-stricken countrymen, if my heart failed to throb 
with the passion of hate for the oppressor, and my soul 
failed to long for the hour when his flag and his footstep 
should cease to pollute the air and the earth of Ireland. 

There is a gulf between England and Ireland too wide 
for statesmanship to bridge, and too deep for works of 
ttonement to fill. It holds in its murky depths the ashes 



of generations upon generations of martyrs whose memo- 
ries live eternal in the hearts of their countrymen. How 
can the world ask Ireland to forget, or to be finally con- 
tent with less than separation, complete separation, utter 
and eternal separation, from the alien rule which has be- 
numbed her industries and murdered her people for seven 
hundred years? Around the world the morning drum- 
beat of Britain rolls in the ears of the nations she has con- 
quered, and the glint of her bayonets lights the evening 
shadows where vanquished and unhappy races dwell. But 
among all who crouch upon the soils she has caused to be 
stained with blood and tears, none hate her with a more 
passionate and enduring hatred than the Irish people, and 
none have greater cause. Her flag is everwhere the symbol 
of unjust rule in the past and the sign of living oppression in 
the present. The woodsman by the banks of far northern 
rivers mutters a curse in French as her troops pass by. 
The Maori in the antipodes remembers her cruelty and 
motions in dumb appeal to his gods against her. The 
dusky races of India kneel in their ancient temples and 
cry out to their unanswering idols in the helplessness and 
hopelessness of their despair. Ireland has more than the 
wrongs of all the other victims of English tyranny and 
greed, but, unlike the others, the hope of Ireland still 
lives. In other lands where altar fires once burned are 
now only the cold and desolate ashes of despair ; but on 
Irish altars the eternal spark still lingers, fanned and kept 
alive by her resolute and devoted sons. And not in Ire- 
land alone, but throughout the larger Ireland which 
stretches across this continent, the fire is burning. From 
mother to son it is kept glowing, and wherever Irish blood 
pulses from an Irish heart, there ever and again a man 
swears in his secret soul, by the ghosts of millions slain by 
sword and famine and fever, by the memory of the un- 
daunted souls who went joyfully to the scaffold that Ire- 
land might be free, by all there is of the history of Ireland's 
wrongs and the hope of Irish hearts, never to cease to 
agitate, never to cease to plot, never to cease to seek 
opportunity of successful combat, until upon every inch 
of Irish soil the green shall float securely above the red. 

England's crime against Ireland is not, as I have already 
suggested, merely the crime of a day that is gone. The 
grievances of Ireland are, in other words, not sentimental 
but actual ; they are living and present grievances, not 
only of yesterday, but to-day. The laws to which I have 
referred, and other laws to which I shall refer presently, 
have indeed been repealed, but in their lifetime they 
worked enduring mischiefs, which no mere repen^ng stat- 
utes could undo. It is .the curse of a tyrannical and 
sordid rule that its evil effects do not stop with the gener- 
ation upon whom it directly operates. Tlv evil deeds 
of a nation poison the springs which flow ouv into future 
years, and taint the lives of those yet unboi.,. Almost in 
a day the edifice of American slavery toppled with a crash 
to its doom ; but twenty years have com. and gone, and 
twice twenty years may come and go, before the blight 
caused by the shadow of the now fallen houses of bond- 
age will disappear from our social and political life. Be- 
fore England can stand absolved before the God of 
Nations, for the desolation and suffering of Ireland, she 
must make reparation to the land she has ruined, and 
such reparation cannot be made by mere rescision of 
wicked laws that have done their work of wickedness. 
No reform less radical than a concession of full and com- 
plete self-government to Ireland will secure prosperity and 
contentment. 

Look at the two countries as they stand, and then con- 
sider the causes of the difference between them : To- 
day a hundred diversified industries make affluent the 
homes of England, while Ireland bends famished and de- 
pendent over the weary earth to which alone her sons can 
resort for employment and subsistence. Ten' thousand 
furnaces make the night lurid in England, while the skies 
of Ireland are unlit with the fires of industry. Every 
stream in England is chained to the wheels of toil, while 
Irish rivers flow silently to the sea and turn never a tur- 
bine as they go. English harbors are laced with wharves 
and beaten into foaming paths by steam vessels, while the 
waves in Irish bays lap lonesome sands. Wealth chokes 
the arteries of England ; poverty glides weak and languid 
through the veijis of Ireland. The Englishman imports 
his food from America, and finds plenty for all his needs; 
the products of Irish soil are carried away by the ship- 
load, while the tillers of that soil die of starvation in the 
sight of plenty. 

Am I told that Ireland's lack of diversified indus- 
tries comes from Irishmen's lack of the will or wit to 
work? I answer in plain phrase that the assertion is a 
weak and wicked lie. Not here on these Western shores 
may such a feeble falsehood find welcome or acceptance. 
Where hammers and picks are ringing, and shuttles are 
shifting, and spindles are humming, and forges are glow- 
ing, and axes are gleaming, over all this broad land, there 
Irish muscles are helping to weave the mighty fabric of 
American greatness, and Irish voices are singing the song 
ot faithful and honored toil. The famished misery of 
the Irish in Ireland is not because of their want of will to 
work. It is the consequence of the necessary inforced 
dependence of the people of Ireland upon agriculture 
alone for their support. It is a consequence of a lack 
of manufacturing industries. And how shall England stand 
before the nations, taunting her victim with the result of 
centuries of English legislation, and deriding a distress 



perpetuated by her own present refusal to enact rein, il 
laws? 

Of old there was a king who called for bricks without 
straw from a people whose altars and whose liberties he 
had overthrown. But there came a time when the tim- 
brels of joy were sounded by those who had been op- 
pressed, and an emancipated race shouted, " We will 
sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the 
horse and his rider he hath cast into the sea." Let Eng- 
land take note of the lesson. 

It is not so many years since the manufacture of woolen 
goods in Ireland was prohibited by Act of Parliament, 
and the exportation of glass, of tallow, of cured meats, of 
hides, and finally of everything from Ireland, was forbid- 
den to other than English ports. To quote from Mrs. 
Sullivan's able work, "Ireland of To-day:" "The 
principle which was always present in English commer- 
cial legislation for Ireland was, that Ireland should be the 
private and exclusive market of the English manufacturer. 
Nothing should be produced in Ireland which could be 
sent from England into Ireland ; nothing should be sent 
from Ireland into England which could be produced in 
England. Ireland should not be suffered to sell anything 
in any foreign market which the English could sell there. 
Ireland should not buy from any one but England." The 
writer adds : " These resolutions reduced the economical 
relations of Ireland with mankind to a very simple basis." 
I should say so. 

But, say the English apologists of to-day, these laws 
have been repealed. It was the bad grandfathers of the 
present wise and humane statesmen that enacted such 
laws, and there is no law now to prevent the building of 
factories in Ireland. Ah ! but there is, though, and it is 
a law as strong as any Act of Parliament. It is the law 
of competition, the law of supply and demand, the law 
of self-interest. Ireland has not the capital, the skilled 
labor, nor the commercial facilities and knowledge, to 
enable her to compete with England ; and how could she 
have? The wild eagle who never felt a fetter will soar 
beyond the sight of n.\.i ; but capture her, anil keeQ her 
and her progeny in cages, and the third generation of 
eagles will not be able to fly over a fence. The laws of a 
past generation have indeed been repealed ; but before 
their repeal they accomplished a work of mischief which 
no mere repeal can undo. Ireland, under the pre-^sure of 
English laws, has become a country where agriculture is 
almost the sole industrial pursuit. The lands of Ireland 
are owned by aliens and absentees. Excessive rents have 
prevented accumulation of money in the hands of the 
tenants. All the wealth which labor has created in Ire- 
land above the cost of its own meager subsistence has 
gone in one ceaseless flow out of the country. The 
money wrung from the sweat of Ireland's toil and tortured 
from the breasts of her famine has gone into the tills of 
London shop-keepers and Paris milliners. It has gone 
into the pockets of the titled blacklegs of the London 
clubs. It has gone for the sparkle of French wines and 
the purchased smiles of singing harlots, and no shilling of 
it has ever returned for investment in factories or foun- 
dries on Irish soil. You can not build prisons for nature's 
forces without capital. You can not chain the waters or 
uncover the buried fires without capital. Capital is the 
necessary ally of labor, and capital is often a good deal 
fearful of its partner. Capital demands safety and profit. 
Capital is selfish. Capital is no knight errant seeking for 
distressed lands. It will not emigrate to a country filled 
with despairing and poverty-stricken people. It would 
not, therefore, go into Ireland from abroad, and it could 
not grow up there naturally any more than oranges could 
grow on the coast of Labrador. The British government 
built its structure of tyranny well. It built it so well that, 
once erected, it could afford to knock out the legislative 
props and trust to natural laws to sustain it. Ireland is weak 
because she is poor; she is poor because she is confined 
to one industry; she is confined to one industry because 
the British government will neither foster other industries 
upon Irish soil by imperial legislation, nor permit Ireland 
to elect a local legislature and make her own laws. If 
Ireland were allowed a local parliament, as is Canada and 
Australia, or if Irish members of the British Parliament 
were allowed to suggest the local laws for Ireland, as 
Scotch members are allowed to suggest the local laws for 
Scotland, it would not be difficult to establish a system of 
aid and protection to Irish manufactures that would soon 
lift the people of Ireland out of distress into comfort, if not 
affluence. 

But this would be to lay the foundation of Irish inde- 
pendence of British rule, and the British rulers know it. 
Bacon's aphorism that Knowledge is power, may have been 
true in his time ; but in this day and generation Wealth is 
power. Genius may sway senates and magnetize masses. 
Science may follow the pathway of the stars and unlock 
the atomic secrets of nature. The artist's brush, the 
scholar's pen, the inventor's chisel may give the names 
of those who wield them to the ages; but even these, as 
well as many nobler attributes of human life, are weighed 
in the scales which Wealth holds in its sordid grasp. The 
power of a land is with the owners of its money bags; and 
the nation which counts no millionaires among its citizens 
may be virtuous, may be happy, but it will not be strong. 
If the people of Ireland were as prosperous as the people 
of Scotland; if they had the same wealth, the same self- 
government, the same civil and political rights, then the 



4 



British government in Ireland as at present constituted 
would not last a week. To keep Ireland under subjec- 
tion it is necessary to keep the Irish people poor, and it 
is done. 

It is, I repeat, idle to talk of undoing the wrongs 
wrought by wicked laws merely by repealing them. There 
is no great manufacturing nation on earth which has not 
built up its manufactures at first by protection and friendly 
legislation. England protected her own manufactures by 
Acts of Parliament until she had fostered them to a con- 
dition of independence that enabled her to abandon the 
policy of protection and favor free trade; and after Eng- 
land became a free trade nation the repeal of the statutes 
which crippled and destroyed Irish manufactures was of 
no use to Ireland, and England did not intend that it 
should be. Place two men in training for a race. Give to 
one nourishing food and the proper exercise and instruc- 
tion ; tie the other up in bandages so tight as to check 
his circulation ; and when the first has become an expert 
runner and the second has become a bundle of paralyzed 
nerves and flaccid muscles, then takeoff the bandages and 
bid the cripple run against the athlete, and taunt him with 
idleness and cowardice if he refuses to try. Before Eng- 
land can undo the disastrous effect upon Ireland of the 
laws of a century that is gone, let her accord to Ireland 
the same opportunity for wealth and progress that she took 
for herself. Give an Irish Parliament the right to build 
up manufactures in Ireland by a protective tariff for half 
a century or so, and then if there are no factories in 
Ireland, it will be time enough to accuse Irishmen of ina- 
bility to compete with Englishmen in the qualities of thrift 
and industry. And it is so little, () England ! that Ireland 
asks of you, after all. Only the same right for her sons to 
live in their native land that you accord to your conquered 
heathen subjects in Hindostan. Only the same right to 
exist upon the product of the soil whereon they live that 
you accord to Aldemey cows and Southdown sheep. 
Only the right to diversify industries; the ruin to accumu- 
late resources ; the right to build up manufactures — and, 
trwt »hey «>■> .M'.complish all these, tl right to rule "them- 
selves- How can you stand, O England! in t^e face of 
the nations and continue to refuse this just demand? 
Consider where you arc in yi ur relation to unitization; in 
your relation to the powers of earth; in your relation 
to the ages that have gone and the ages that are coming. 
You are living in the blazing light of the autumn of the 
19th century. " You are like a city set upon a hill, whose 
light cannot be hid." You claim to stand foremost before 
the world in letters, arts and arms. You claim to be the 
freest and most progressive of nations. And yet look 
about you and see how, on every shore but yours, and un- 
der every sun except that which lights your flag, the hosts 
of freedom a.e advancing, and the august and benign 
presence of Justice finds welcome and home. On the far 
steppes of Russia the serf has found freedom and the land- 
less begin to find hope of homes. In France five million 
happy, contenied peasant proprietors sustain the govern- 
ment of a republic. The German owns the acres he 
cultivates. Italy stretches free from the Alps to the 
Adriatic. Beyond the western seas the Genius of 
America points to a land which echoes no footstep of a 
slave, and where Liberty so clasps hands with Law that 
even amid the throes of civil war no man was found bold 
enough or base enough to propose that the government 
should pack a jury-box in order to convict a rebel. 
Everywhere humanity presses forward, and the world 
whirls onward amid the stars, farther from the black- 
ness every morning, nearer to the sweet light every night. 
Only on your shores, O England ! the darkness lingers. 
Only on your banner the black shadow falls. Only your 
voice makes discord in the music. Only your footstep 
lingers in the race. For across the threshold of your tem- 
ples and palaces, shaming your vaunted justice, shaming 
your boasted chivalry, shaming your manliness, shaming 
your honor, lies Ireland, with the cruel and merciless 
clutch of the dead centuries upon her fair and unoffend- 
ing throat. Ah! take it off and lift her to her beautiful 
feet. Take it off, and the ghosts of the dead Tudors, and 
the dead Protector, and the dead Kings of the House of 
Hanover and the House of Brunswick shall wander no 
more in expiation on the dim Plutonian shore. Give 
Ireland self-government, and turbines will whir, and spin- 
dles hum, and forges glow, and the wailings of discontent 
will cease, and a people— free, prosperous and happy- 
will rise up and call you blessed. Repeal the iniquitous 
Act of Union, and let Gladstone out of a difficulty, and 
Beaconsfield out of purgatory, and Castlereagh out of 
hell. Give Ireland self-government, or some day she will 
wrest it from the well-jointed structure of your British 
Empire, and behold it will go down in undistinguishable 
wreck. 

Even of greater immediate importance than the diversi- 
fication of industries in Ireland is the organization and reg- 
ulation of land tenures upon a basis that will give Irish 
people upon Irish soil an equal chance of life with cattle 
and sheep. Ireland, being the westernmost island of the 
British group, receives in the outstretched arms of her 
mountains the bulk of the clouds swept in from the At- 
lantic by the western winds. These, descending in almost 
constant^ains, surcharge and sodden the soil of Ireland 
with moisture. This humidity of air and earth is a posi- 
tive disadvantage to both cereal and root crops, but it 
makes the richest and most succulent pasture and mc adow 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



larfd in the world. The market for beef and mutton is 

close at hand across the channel, and at the present prices 
of meat in England there is absolutely nothing that the 
labor of man can produce by tillage upon the soil of Ire- 
land that will yield as large a profit to the owner of the 
soil as the raising of beef and mutton. Besides, oxen and 
sheep go to the shambles uncomplainingly, while men and 
women make an outcry. Sheep never bite their land- 
lords, and cows never shoot them from behind a hedge. 
The c arcass of a beef fattened on Irish soil is worth twenty 
pounds to the owner, while the body of an Irishman or 
woman, starved upon the same soil, will perhaps cost the 
landlord twenty shillings for burial. There is safety and 
profit both to the landlord in driving human beings be- 
yond seas, or into their graves, to fill their places ujxjn 
Irish soil with four-footed beasts. And the landlords — 
backed by the eager and loving help of the British gov- 
ernment — have been busy for a quarter of a century mak- 
ing this sort of exchange, until one-third of the people of 
Ireland have been murdered or banished, and of Ireland's 
twelve million acres of land available for agriculture, nine 
millions are now in pasture and meadow. Of course such 
a result would not have been possible under any civilized 
system of land tenures. But in Ireland, outside of Ulster, 
there was scarcely a tenant except at the will of his land- 
ord. No leases were granted. The landlord had the 
right to evict the tenant at his caprice, and whether the 
tenant paid his rent or not. All improvements made by 
the tenant belonged to the landlords, without r mipensation 
to the tenant. If he built a house or a barn, or drained or 
fenced the land, or added in any way to its value, he was 
not only allowed nothing for the improvement, but the 
increase in value caused by the improvement was made 
the occasion of an increase in rent. 

How, it may be asked, can the five millions of people 
left in Ireland live off the three million acres reserved for 
cultivation? 1 answer that they do not live off it; they 
exist upon it. Obliged to compete in earning power with 
cattle and sheep, the human beings pay a rent nearly 
equal to the market value of the crops they raise. Upon 
the very slight difference between rent and crop value 
they die of starvation in bad years, and in good years ex- 
ist after a fashion, aided by contributions from their more 
fortunate relatives and friends living in foreign lands. 
Clinging to their beloved land in despite of tyranny and 
starvation, clinging as the child clings to the bosom of its 
dear mother, they have called, and called not in vain, for 
succor to those beyond the seas. Every year thousands 
upon thousands of Irish boys cross the channel to work 
for months in English fields and on English roads and 
ditches, arid their earnings are brought or sent back to 
help thostrat home pay the cruel and extortionate rents 
exacted from the tillers of Irish soil. The very shiploads 
of food which American charity sent to Ireland practically 
went to the landlords, for they went to take the place of 
food turned over to landlords in payment of rent; and 
every American ship, loaded with food for the starving, 
that sailed into an Irish port met half a dozen British 
ships sailing out of the same port loaded with food raised 
on Irish soil. To-day, among the mines of Australia and 
America ; in the forests of the North ; in the factories of 
New England ; on broad Western prairies ; in the crowded 
marts of trade, and in millions of shops and households, 
Irish men and women are working a little harder and 
pinching a little closer to save some old father or mother 
at home from being turned out to die upon the roadside. 
Let not reproach come to those whose sufferings are thus 
relieved. Let no blush, except of indignation, mount to 
any Irish cheek. The shame of mendicancy rests not 
upon Irish rags, but upon the foul and dishonored purple 
of British power. It is the landlords, and not the tenants, 
with whom the dishonor of beggary rests. It is not poor 
starved and suppliant Oliver Twist who deserves the lash 
of scorn, but the hawk-billed and vulture-clawed Fagin 
of nations with whom the disgrace abides. " Hut," says 
the modern Shylock, who strides along Cheapside, in wide- 
shoes and with two umbrellas, " here is a man who owns 
ten thousand acres of land in Galway. If the man owns 
the land, you know, and it pays him better to raise sheep 
upon it than to rent it to a lot of turbulent people who 
don't always pay their rent, you know, why should not he 
be protected in his rights?" The answer is not difficult. 
In the first place the man "don't own the land, you 
know," in the absolute sense of ownership. I pass by the 
question of legal or equitable title. As a matter of fact, 
there is not an English title to Irish soil that did not orig- 
inate in confiscation and robbery, and that is not rotten 
and worm-eaten with centuries of villainy and oppression. 
But conceding to the landlords ownership, in the legal 
sense, of the land for whose use they collect rent, yet such 
ownership carries with it certain political and moral obli- 
gations which, elsewhere than in Ireland, have been recog- 
nized by every civilized and semi-civilized nation on the 
earth. Rights and duties are reciprocal. If I own a rail- 
road, I may not arbitrarily fix a rate of fares and freights 
that will destroy traffic or beggar those who are obliged to 
use it. If I own water works and water pipes, I may not 
charge a price for water that will impoverish the dwellers 
in a city or compel them to die of thirst. If I had wealth 
vast enough to purchase all the grain crop of Europe and 
America, and should buy it and lock it up and fix 
a price upon it that would make beggars or thieves 
of hungry millions, all the written laws of the world would 



" I ■ 

1 

not save my property or my life from the swift justice of 
outraged humanity. That which is true in a larger is true 
also in a smaller degree. Take your rights, Mr. Landlord, 
but give the tenants their rights, as well. Take the letter 
of your bond, but step not beyond it. Take your pound 
of flesh, but have a care lest in the taking you shed one 
drop of blood. You have the parchment right to levy 
annual tribute upon the toil of those who till Irish acres. 
You have this right because hundreds of years ago some 
English king wrested those acres by force from the Irish 
people, and gave them to some of the robbers or bawds 
about his court. But the tribute that you exact ought to 
be less than the utmost result that human effort can win 
from the land. The laborer must live. Even from the 
( lod who voiced II is commands in the thunders of Sinai 
comes the law, "Ye shall not muzzle the ox that treadeth 
out the corn." The men and women born upon Irish soil, 
who have drunk the waters and breathed the airs and 
been warmed by the suns of Erin, have a right to retain 
enough of the product of their faithful labor to supply 
themselves and their little ones with food and shelter and 
a fair share of the comforts of life. This is a God-given, 
inalienable right, beyond and above all parchment titles. 
It is a right of human nature that no wise statesman would 
deny. It is a right that only incarnated selfishness and 
brutality would withhold. 

And it is withheld in Ireland— withheld yesterday, with- 
held to-day, and it will be withheld forever, unless the 
aroused moral sentiment of the civilized world lays its 
strong grasp on John Bull's throat and throttles him until 
he concedes to (jower that which he denies to humanity. 
It is true that the House of Commons did, under the press- 
ure of PameU's obstruction policy, enact some feeble 
measure of relief for Irish tenants; but the Lords, envious 
and jealous of anything which reminded them by the 
slightest contrast of their own utter impotence, promptly 
amended the proposed land reform laws so as to deprive 
them of all virility. And all Gladstone's flummery about 
reforming land tenures in Ireland has traveled a circle of 
inanity and terminated where it began. " Nothing can 
come of nothing." Notwithstanding the so-called land 
reform, one million of human beings go to bed hungry 
every night, while food enough to supply three millions is 
shipped from Ireland to pay unjust rent. 

It would transcend the limits of this article were I to 
enumerate even a tithe of the horrors which attend upon 
English government of Ireland, not merely in the last cen- 
tury or the last decade, but now. The catalogue is a 
dreary one — human misery in every conceivable form : 
little children half naked and shivering with cold and 
hunger; women weeping because their babes are unfed; 
men with the manhood starved out of them ; husbands 
and wives fighting like wolves for the last morsel of food; 
crowds of gaunt, famine-stricken creatures gathered 
around the centers where the food sent by the charity of 
distant nations is distributed; thousands dead from 
famine, dead from fever, dead within the doors of their 
cabins, dead on the roadside from exposure to the ele- 
ments, dead from eviction, dead of landlordism, dead 
almost within the shadow of the churches and banks and 
factories and warehouses and palaces of Christian Eng- 
land—dead of the rigors of British rule. 

And all this under the majesty of English law ! All 
this while a hundred vessels daily cross the Irish channel, 
carrying food away from Ireland ! All this while sheriffs 
are tearing down roof-trees and plowing up the hearths of 
village after village, leaving the evicted farmers with their 
wives and little ones to sleep on the highways or the sands 
of the sea-shore and live upon sea-weed or the offal of the 
ocean ! All this while English courts are busy branding 
with felony and sentencing to penal servitude the poor 
creatures who pull turnips out of a landlord's field, and 
busier giving to swift and unrelenting death the maddened 
men who vainly thought to help their country by striking 
down the representatives of her tyrants ! Oh, the majesty 
of English law ! I would sooner be an Apache upon the 
warpath — I would sooner be a murderer, passionless and 
red-handed, killing for gain alone, than be one of the res- 
ponsible authors or perpetuators of English rule in Ireland. 

These, it may be said, are the wrongs; but what of the 
remedy? I answer that the remedy wijl be found where 
the cure for all other of Ireland's ills will be found — in 
self-government. Ireland had a separate parliament from 
1782 to 1800, when by the vilest and most unblushing cor- 
ruption it was taken from her. During the eighteen years 
she enjoyed self-government her condition was extremely 
prosperous. It is proposed now that the British Parlia- 
ment can be induced to rescind the Act of Union of 1800 
and accord to Ireland a separate parliament. The in- 
ducement offered will be peaceful and constitutional. It 
will be by constant agitation of the cause of Ireland from 
the rostrum and by the newspaper press, until large- ad- 
ditions shall be made to the number of members of Par- 
liament who will co-operate with Charles Stewart Pamell 
in his most ingenious and effective policy of parliamentary 
obstruction — which is but another name for that sacred 
privilege of the minority which is known in our Congress 
as " filibustering." If Parnell's following can be increased 
to eighty or one hundred members, an Irish Parliament 
can probably be secured — because a minority of one-.->i\th 
or one-fifth of any legislative body, the remainder of w hi< h 
is divided evenly into two parties, can secure any reason- 
able legislation that may be demanded. By having or 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



purpose in view, sacrificing everythi,. , else to that pur- 
pose, voting now with the govempie'K party and- again 
with the opposition party, one-fifth of the Commons can 
so wear out the other four-fifths that the party in power 
will be glad to purchase peace at any price. ev< n the price 
of according self-government to Ireland, jb .ill be re- 
membered ho\r of old the Lord filibustered with Pharaoh, 
sending upon him first one plague and then another, until 
at last Pharaoh suffered Israel to depart out of the house 
of bondage. Parnell will be the Moses of Ireland, and 
the best and most effective way at present to help Ireland 
is to help Parnell ; and that can be done by strengthening 
•and upholding and giving moral support and financial aid 
to theJrish National League. 

Once a separate parliament for Ireland shall be ob- 
tained, a better day for Ireland will have dawned. An 
Irish Parliament, empowered to legislate for Ireland, could 
provide for purchasing, at a fair price — with land-bonds 
fssued for that purpose — from the landlords, all or most of 
the land in Ireland suitable for cultivation, and then selling 
it in small holdings to the occupants, upon a credit and at a 
rate of interest and proportion of annual payment that the 
farmer could meet. Thus would the landlords be paid 
the full value of their property, and a race of peasant pro- 
prietors be established, who, given secure tenure for their 
homes and incited to industry by being suffered to par- 
take of its fruits, would soon place Ireland foremost among 
the nations. Such a system of regulating land tenure by 
law as I have suggested is no experiment. It has been 
tried substantially in France and in Germany and in 
Russia; and everywhere under its workings peace and 
plenty have reigned, and order and justice have been made 
more secure. If the people of Ireland should thus become 
the owners of the soil of Ireland, there would be an end 
of famine ; there would be an end of exporting food, other 
than the surplus ; and the new incentive to industry would 
make that surplus larger than now, and leave no human 
being hungry upon Irish soil. The money proceeds of 
that surplus, no longer expended abroad by alien owners 
of the soil, would be accumulated at home; and, encour- 
aged and protected by wise and fostering laws, it would 
go to create and develop a hundred industries that within 
a generation might make Ireland a rival of England in 
affluence and progress and prosperity. 

And then— what then? Ah, who can tell ! It may be 
that when relieved from oppression, when basking in 
prosperity, when busy with the duties of contented and 
well-paid toil, the Irish people would forget the past and 
help to carry the standard of a truly United Kingdom 
forward to a grander fruition of power and happiness than 
ever Britain achieved for her subjects in any of the eras 
that have gone. If so, such would be England's reward 
for tardy reparation of a mighty and continued injustice ; 
and if otherwise, such would he England's scant punish- 
ment for centuries of wrong. And it might be otherwise. 
It might be that, thus made free, made prosperous, made 
powerful, Ireland would say to the government across the 
channel: "We forgive, but we cannot forget. We ask 
no reparation for the past. We demand not vengeance, 
but we do not care to continue the partnership. It has 
been a partnership where you have enjoyed most of the 
profits, and we have had most of the losses. Now let us 
part. You may take all the assets we have aided, during 
all these centuries, to accumulate. Leave to us only our 
freedom and our" country. Take India and Australia and 
New Zealand and Canada, and the continents and islands 
that Irish valor and suffering and skill and labor have 
helped to add to your domain. Take Waterloo, where an 
Irishman, recreant indeed to his own land, yet saved you 
and made you foremost among the nations. Take the 
literature that Swift and Goldsmith and Moore and Cur- 
ran and Grattan and a hundred Irish brains have caused 
to blaze with the gems of genius which they set, like 
splendid stars, in its diadem. Of the fabric of greatness 
and of power we have helped to weave for the British 
Empire, take whatsoever you will ; but leave us our soil 
and our sky, and our strong-armed and brave-hearted 
sons. Leave us to work out our own destiny among the 
nations, and let the tides sweep between us in peace for- 
ever." 

If Ireland were prosperous she could dissolve all politi- 
cal relations w ith England, because if she were prosperous 
she would be powerful. If she were accorded self-govern- 
ment she would soon be prosperous. None know this 
better than the rulers of England, and therefore it is that 
local rule has hitherto been denied to Ireland. How 
much longer it can be denied remains yet to be seen. Not 
long, if Irishmen everywhere are true. Not long, if those 
abroad in whose veins flows Irish blood will be willing 
awhile to sacrifice and labor for the freedom of their 
native land. 



APPROBATION FOR THE ATHLETE. 



" What you need, Madame," said a distinguished physi- 
cian to an interesting invalid, " is out-door air and exer- 
cise, particularly walking." 

"I know it," was the sad reply; "but my husband 
won't give me any money to go shopping."— Philadelphia 

A Western paper says that " Watterson is the brains of 
the Democratic party." Then the Democratic party is 
in no immediate* danger of dying from water on the 
brain.— Norristown Herald. 




It is a matter of record that some weeks ago, in the 
Mechanics' Pavilion, in the glare of electric lights and in 
the presence of the whole police force, John Longfellow 
Sullivan, of Boston, was knocked out in one round by a 
common English Grammar. 

This was quite 
a set-back to the 
cultured Boston 
Professor, i n a s - 
much as he trims 
his t i g h t s with 
green — that is the 
tights in which he 
makes money. 
His other "tights" 
are generally trim- 
med with a ma- 
hogany counter, 
sometimes with an 
enraged barkeeper 
and a club, and 
occasionally with 
the railing of a 
Police Court. If 
Professor Sullivan had been knocked out by anything 
else than uti English Grammar, his humiliation would 
have been,less keen. 

He might have come up smiling for another round if 
he had been floored by any emblem of German culture — 
a grocery sign, a schooner of beer, or a limburger cheese. 
He might have made some effort to defend himself! 
Anything Russian, French, Swedish, Sclavonian or Es- 
quimeau would have been all right — anything that 
couldn't by any stretch of the imagination be declared 
English — Jael Dence's confessions and Dan O'Connell's 
poetry not barred. But to be knocked silly by the very 
foundation-stone of British boastfulness, so to speak, 
verily this was, in the polished language of Boston, " too 
tough." 

However, it happened, and the record cannot be 
changed. Far be it from us to gloat over the misfortune 
which fell on the center of American civilization, when 
its favorite professor was tempted to demonstrate that 
his jaw had a nobler use than that of keeping his collar 
down. 

Our motive in referring to the catastrophe is to pave 
the way for a few kind words in behalf of professional 
athletes — a class now wondrously numerous in San 
Francisco, and generally misunderstood. They almost 
invariably start from New York, that being, we believe, 
the nearest point of importance to Sing Sing. Sometimes 
they start further West, and whenever this happens they 
come through on a lightning schedule, and shorten it 
every time they see a policeman. By hhe time they get 
here they are generally in good trim for a match, long 
distance walking being the best kind of training. ' They 
are also ready to express their views on the cliinate, and 
to admit that the city comes fully up to their expecta- 
tion. As this is their idea of a San Francisco taxpayer, 
they probably tell the 
truth; but the oc- 
currence is so rare 
that it hurts them 
very little. They 
soon recover from 
the accident, and 
show that it has left 
no permanent injury, 
by telling all that they 
don't know about 
their antecedents and 
what they hope to 
know some day about 
themselves. The in- 
teresting thing in con- 
nection with these 
confessions is that 
they get into the 
newspapers and raise 
serious doubts in the 
minds of the thought- 
ful whether a tendency to explore the depths of religious 
sentiment and climb the hights of philosophy, is but evi- 
dence of special fitness for the prize ring and a resplendent 
talent for petty larceny. 

Thus for example, Professor Sullivan was educated for 
the church, but became a slogger, the pulpit not offering 
that active inducement to religious zeal which the jaw of 
a sturdy and unrepentant sinner presents. That eminent 
lemon-colored athlete, Mr. Hart, was carefully trained 
for the bar, and developed his marvelous pedestrian 
powers in the formal professional manner — that is to say, 
between dodging his landlady and looking for a client. 

Half a dozen of the other army of athletic champions 
now on this coast began life with a view to embellishing 
the world of letters and arts by their talents. With so many 
brilliant examples of the respectability and intellectual 
distinction of professional athletes, we regard it as super- 
fluous to say much more in their behalf. We know them 
to be all peaceable men, when asleep — and law-abiding, 




when the eye of some unfriendly constable is on the 
Their piety is so great that the most cultivated of them 
would rather draw a cross under a worldly contract than 
affix his name to it. We would willingly trust our 
lives to them, if we had no further pleasure in exist- 
ence, and allow them the free range of our premises, if 
our chicken coops were burglar-proof. We would on 
principle give any of them our last dime, if it were a 
counterfeit, and the possession thereof should insure their 
admission to an arena where athletic ability is measured 
by piles of jute and heaps of brick. This and more, any 
reputable citizen should do for them, though there be 
some of the tribe who endeavor, as far as is compatibl 
with their business, to deserve an extension of a few of 
the enumerated privileges, and a curtailment of others. 
The railroad track will not have to be widened, however, 
for the homeward tramp of the exceptionally circum- 
spect handful, of whom Rumor hath it that Muldoon is 
one. 

The prowess of this re- 
markably virtuous athlete is 
only exceeded by his pru- 
dence. It is pleasant to 
those who have observed 
the unswerving earnestness 
with which Mr. Muldoon 
has salted down his tens 
of thousands in this city, to 
know that his fame is be- 
ing perpetuated in marble 
by his old friend, Marion 
Wells. 

The adjoining sketch is 
from the model in clay, and 
is entitled, "The only 
wrestler whom Muldoon 
could never throw down." 
A large cast has already 
been ordered by the landlady who "went" Mr. Mul- 
doon several exciting G : , ^co-Roman rounds for a si \ -hit 
stake — the slender arrears 6f his monrfi s rent. 




PKACK. 



BY INA D. COOLHRI iH. 



Love, poised for ready flight, 
Ruddy as morning light, 

Bright and as brief his stay; 
Hope, with alluring wing, 
Fair as the flowers of Spring, 

Fleeting as they. 

Joy, with elusive gleam, 
Flitting o'er life's dull stream, 

Swift as the tides that run; 
Flower that a day endures, 
False flight the foot that lures, 
Gain that no heart secures, 

Lost soon as won. 

Thou only, calm of mien, 
YVaitest, with brow serene, 

Soft pinions furled in rest; 
Fair as thy lilies are, 
Shining a fixed star, 

Blessing and blest. 

Me in thy still arms lull, 
Presence most beautiful! 

Captive my soul, release. 
On thy breast undefiled; 
Safe from life's tempests wild, 
Fold me, a weary child, 

Angel of Peace! 

Carefully Planned. 



Ambitious Youth—" Pa, I want you to let me go to 
Ireland." 
Pa — " And what for?" 

Ambitious Youth— " I should stay there for several 
years until I caught the brogue, and then come over in 
the steerage and open a saloon in New York." 

Pa- -" Good gracious ! such talk from you ! I thought 
you aimed high." 

Ambitious Youth— " I do." 

Pa — " And what do you expect to become by such a 
course as you suggest ? ' 

Ambitious Youth—" A member of Congress from New 
York City."— Philadelphia Call. 

The K iitrieities of Genius. 



" Well," said Snagsby to Perkyns, " I have got my poem 
accepted at last by the Atlantic." 

" What, the same one you sent them last summer and 
they returned? " 

" The same." 

" How did you work it? " 

" Oh, I wrote it out with a broom-splint, and spelled 
one-sixth of the words wrong, and they took me for an 
old-school poet. If I had spelled correctly and written 
in a readable hand they would have said ' school boy ' and 
sent it back." — Marathon Independent. 

Love. Young Simpson (to the lovely Felicia, as they 
stand on the piazza in the moonlight)—" Miss Felicia, 
this world looks so dreary and lonely to me. I feel as 
though no one loves me." Felicia (in a sympathetic tone) 
"Oh, Mr. Simpson, God loves you." Simpson, after a 
thoughtful pause, suggests they go in, as it is growing 
chilly. — Life. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



MY FAITH. 



BY JOSEPH T. r.oonMAN. 



If I had been at Pethlehem 

When sang on high the heavenly host; 
Or had I stood by Jordan stream 

And seen descend the Holy Uhost; 

My faith would not be half a doubt, 
As now it is, and only cleave 

To Jesus with a trust devout 
Solely because I try to believe. 

Those strains would be an actual thing. 

That sight a helping hand held out, 

To which my drifting faith might cling 
Redoubtable to every doubt. 

Ye twelve, to whom his sight and touch 
Were common as your daily feast, 

I wonder not ye believed so much, 
But that ye doubted in the least. 

Who could not believe that felt his grace 
And saw the miracles he wrought, 

Or looked upon his heavenly face 
And listened to the words he taught ; 

That walked the pleasant fields with him 

Or sailed on stormy (lalile*, 
And braved be wept Jerusalem 

Or sought the peace of Bethany} 

If I had shared the blissful lot 
With him to dwell and journey round, 

A greater faith than mine could not — 
No, not in Israel — be found. 

But every act and every word 

Seems doubtful from this distant view; 
And so I ask, Was he the Lord, 

And Is the story of him true? 

When I to-day have such ado 
To sift the simplest story told, 

Can I accept as wholly true 
A tale so marvelous and old? 

The great apostle broke the spell 
By saying, "Either it was he, 

Or we of men are pitiable 

In that we hoped him Christ to be." 

There at the outset splits the clew 
And leads us only up to doubt; 

The Either, Or — which of the two? 
Ah, who shall find the puzrle out ! 

If thou wert Christ, and called above, 
" My God, why hast forsaken me?" 

Let that doubt of thy father's love 
Flead for my lack of faith in thee. 

' For if— begotten of and one 

With him — thou feltest doubt how small, 
Why should not I — no part, no son — 
Doubt that there be a God at all? 



CALIFORNIA. 



A. Pioneer's Lecture to her People on their 
Duties. 



BY HON. C. C. GOODWIN. 



When the Argonauts in force invaded California they 
found a wonder of the world. No savage land was ever 
more fair. The Coast Range had swung back its portals 
and made the Gate of Gold which opened into a bay, which 
of itself in area, depth of water, and security, gave whis- 
pers even then of the mighty commerce which was to build 
a capital upon its shores. As the land was explored new 
wonders were discovered. The plains were flower- 
crowned; the mountains were clothed in forests more 
magnificent than ever before were seen ; the splendors 
which the landscape unfolded were like the pictures which 
the seers of old saw in visions — pictures sketched by the 
brushes of angels, and made luminous with tints of ever- 
lasting litrht. The more the eager prospector sought, the 
more gold was found ; those who tried the experiment 
discovered that even' plant from the semi-tropic down (or 
up) assimilated with the soil and grew luxuriantly. The 
climate was found to possess the softness of the tropics, 
without taking from man the enemy and health which the 
temperate zone supplies. As the days and years advanced 
and retreated, and men at length realized that the superb 
state was really an empire in itself— fully caparisoned to 
maintain in splendor, without assistance, a mighty people — 
they gave to it an affection which has never abated, no 
matter where they may have since wandered, no matter 
if long ago they made on other soil their homes. 

As one of those who learned to love California better 
than the state of my birth, because of that love I am 
emboldened to ask what has been done with the beautiful 
land by its people ? What return has been made to the 
savage beauty which flower-crowned, jewel-decked, and 
with God's sunshine woven into the smile which turned 
her brow to splendor, stretched out her ample arms to 
receive and welcome the Argonauts five-and-thirty years 
ago? 

In fancy I hear the answer in the old familiar words : 
" Look at our great city and our lesser cities ! Look at 
our fields of golden wheat ! Our vineyards and orchards ! 



And thegtrainsjwhich come and go across our mountains 
and valleys ! At the fleets which make our great bay a 
rendezvous for commerce ! At our asylums, our temples 
to Justice, to Religion and Education ! Think of the 
more than a thousand millions of dollars that we have dug 
from the placers and the crags, which has vitalized the 
business of the continent, and of the energy which we 
have loaned to blaze the trails in the wilderness, and to 
lay the foundations of adjacent states ; and then answer : 
have we not made a record which we have a right to be 
proud of?" 

While admitting the truth of the claim, I have still mis- 
givings about granting unstinted praise. 

The building of cities is an old occupation. Sodom 
and Gomorrah and Pompeii were cities ; but the only 
thing that saved their names from forgctfulness was their 
wickedness. There have been fleets for thousands of 
years, and the digging of gold was invented by savages. 
The only thing, after all, by which a land is estimated is 
by the men who possess the land. The skies of Greece 
are as fair as when Socrates taught, or the men at Mara- 
thon or Thermopylae died ; but who respects Greece now? 
Italy is as beautiful as when her solid soil trembled under 
the tread of the legions which her great chiefs led ; but 
when computing the nations whose friendship is to be 
coveted and whose enmity is to be dreaded, who thinks 
of Italy? The fields of literature, of eloquence, of poesy, 
of statesmanship and of martial skill and valor were all 
long ago explored. The best that can be done in either 
now is to emulate what others long ago performed ; there 
is no prospect of excelling. It is plain, then, that if 
modern men would lay up something which is to keep 
them from merging speedily with the millions who have 
lived and have been forgotten, they must be better men 
than their predecessors. 

Judged by that standard, how do the men of California, 
weighing fairly what they have done and are doing, bear 
the test? 

You boast of your temples of learning. In which one 
can a poor boy fit himself in such a way that, as the 
school door is finally closed and the education is called 
complete, he can say truthfully : " I know how to do at 
least one useful thing so well that the world will want it 
done; and hence, so long as my hands and eyes and brain 
are in their vigor spared to me, I shall be independent." 

In which school can a young girl be thoroughly fitted to 
go out into the world feeling that she is competent to live, 
if necessary, without 'either a fortune or marriage? or, if 
the latter comes, that she is competent to undertake the 
management of a home, and children if they shall be 
given her? 

Tn the temples of Justice, how many of those who pre- 
side were elected because of their especial fitness, and 
how many were selected because it was believed they 
could secure votes? 

Among the people, what is the standard by which the 
worth of men is estimated? Is it not a metallic one? It 
is said the Georgian girls are trained in those accomplish- 
ments which will secure for them a sure purchaser in Con- 
stantinople. Has there not something of this same spirit 
given direction to the education of a good many California 
girls? Has not the old heathen practice of worshiping a 
widen calf been quite extensively revived in the Golden 
State? What proportion of the boys between ten and six- 
teen years of age who went to bed in California last night 
lay down with the thought that if they were ever to win 
honored names they must honestly earn them ; that if 
they ever were to make a fortune they must honestly earn 
it; and that if they were to be more thought of than the 
general herd of men they must be better men than the 
herd? 

Then, too, as wealth has no safety except through the 
intelligence and forbearance of the poor, who are in so 
vast a majority, what policies in the company of the poor 
have the rich men of California taken out as insurance for 
their property in the future? Have they established poly- 
technic schools for poor boys and girls? Have they helped 
poor young men and women to learn trades? Are they 
turning the streams to make sure the crops, and cutting 
up their great landed estates into little farms, and encour- 
aging young men to go upon the lands and make for them- 
selves independent homes? If the people are true, why 
is it that one-third of all in the state have flocked to San 
Francisco, and left the state at large with only four per- 
sons to the square mile? Through what failure of duty 
on the part of parents first, and of the community in the 
second place, was the California hoodlum created? I 
know how children of old were petted there, and it was 
natural ; for ten times ten thousand men felt tugging at 
their heartstrings the hands of little children which were 
never to be ; but, after all, it was a cruel generosity which 
ruled then, and it should no more be practiced. 

Now I have had my growl, and I have made it as a pre- 
liminary for a suggestion. Long ago in San Francisco 
there was a mighty uprising to put down intolerable 
wrongs. Some bad men were hanged, others banished, 
the courts were purified, the police was made effective, 
order was substituted for anarchy, and integrity and a 
sense of safety succeeded a period of corruption and fear. 
This was accomplished because the good men of the city 
united, and each did what he could. The aggregate was 
something sublime. Why can they not combine again 
and make another aggregate which shall be sublime? 



From a distance looks as though there were some 
noisy primary manipulators in California that it would be 
well to hang ; as though some others should be banished ; 
as though there were a good many young men who should 
be impressed with the idea that a life of shabby-genteel 
vagrancy is not one to secure unbounded respect. 

But over all is the thought that young men and women 
should learn to do something so well that the world will 
want their labor, and then a field for their energies should 
be opened to them. The present of one hundred and 
fifty acres of land in the Sacramento or San Jorquin val- 
ley to a young man would be a gift of douhtfui wisdom 
now ; but were the waters utilized so that a garden might 
be made, a crop secured every year, and a real home 
founded, then fifty acres would be a royal inheritance. 
Is it not true that on the soil already cultivated in those 
valleys $15,000,000 annually is lost because the streams 
are not utilized? Maybe this is why the young men and 
women who grow up on the farms of the state, so soon as 
they can, desert home and go to the cities. 

If California is not the greatest state in the Union it is 
solely because in some grand attributes her people are 
lacking ; for nature has done more for that state than for 
any other. I believe the chief mistake has been in a want 
of combination among the people. Four men in Sacra- 
mento a few years ago combined to build a railroad. 
They worked together and attended strictly to their busi- 
ness, and it is generally understood that by their united 
efforts they did reasonably well. A little such combina- 
tion by the people at large would in ten years transfigure 
the state and place her where she ought to be — the fore- 
most of states, the world's latest and greatest wonder. 
It would be such a materialization as those who love the 
state have always looked forward to. When California 
shall become as careful in raising men as she is now in 
raising grapes, and they all work together, among states 
she will be the chief, because then her people will be 
worthy of the soil they stand ujion, of the skies alwve 
hem. So far they have been too much blessed. At 
journey to the desert, and a good look at what may be 
accomplished in an unpropitious field, where nothing is 
won which is not stubbornly fought for, would do them 
good. The trouble with Californians thus far has been 
the thought that if they failed, they would succeed in 
something else. When they give up that thought and de- 
termine that there shall be no failure, then on the clock 
of progress a new hour w ill strike. Men should be grate- 
ful for blessings bestowed upon them, and grow good and 
great according to the magnitude of their blessings. 
Judged by this rule the men of California should be the 
best and greatest men, and her women the most beautiful 
women anywhere this old world around. 

Tlx- Heeeiit I{;uii». 
[After the style of the " Bulletin.") 

The recent copious rains have insured at least an av- 
erage crop. But for the descent of the rain, the case 
w >uld have been otherwise. It is tolerably certain that 
had there been a serious lack of moisture the farmers 
would have suffered, and with them the rest of the popu- 
lation of the state. Had there been less rain there 
would have been a dryer season, and a dry season is not 
so productive of the cereals as one not so dry. 

The teachings of experience are valuable. In no de- 
partment of human activity is the truth of this axiom 
more clearly seen than in agriculture. In the absence 
of irrigation our farmers are forced to depend upon the 
moisture afforded by nature. Under an extended and 
scientifically devised system of irrigation it would be dif- 
ferent. Then the agriculturist could regard the rain 
gauge with slight anxiety. But since we have not the 
advantage q( an adequate and well-regulated artificial 
system forythe distribution of moisture, the clouds are 
our main — indeed, our sole — reliance. We depend ex- 
clusively at present upon rain to water our broad acres. 

A study of the rain statistics since the earliest period of 
American settlement develops some curious facts. For 
example, the record from 1840 up to 1873, inclusive, 
shows that there were some years in which the rainfall 
was heavier than in others. The following table for the 
subsequent period discloses facts equally pregnant with 
meaning for the agricultural community : 

Years. Inches. 

1874- 75 18 -4° 

1875- 76 26.01 

1870-77 10.00 

1877- 78 31.12 

1878- 79 >t-5" 

1870-80 26.38 

1880- 81 27.51 

1881- 82 16.01 

1882- 83 19.82 

1883- 84 so far 10.76 

The student of this table will perceive at a glance that 
there is a curious periodicity in the recurrence of the 
futires. We find that in 1875-6, 26 inches of rain fell, 
and that in 1870-80 we were confronted with the same 
phenomenon. This proves that the rainfall follows a law 
of cycles. As we had 26 inches in 1875-6, and again in 
1879-80, a period of four years, it is demonstrated that 
every four years hereafter we shall have not less than 26 
inches of rainfall. 

The duty of the farmer under the present favoral l< 
condition of things — and in view of the statistical knowl- 
edge which is now subject to his service, but without 
which he was obliged to worry along until it had been 
accumulated — is to plant his cereals and wait for them to 
grow, trusting to an all-wise Providence to send more 
rain, and to the Bulletin to let him know what it means 
when it does come. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



EXTRACTS FROM "PBBSIA"-AN |UN- 
PUBLISHED POEM. 



BY ANNA M. FITCH. 



One day in December, close down by the sea 
That washes the sands in its sensuous glee, 
The stout-hearted lupin and fuchsias, maroon 
And purple and red, filled the white afternoon 
With perfumes and colors of various degree — 
This day in December, close down by the sea. 

The ocean that rocked in the lap of the wind 
Had forged the huge key for the Orient and Ind, 
And while on its watery hinges there whirled 
The gate that gave welcome to half of the world, 
No fettering frosts or snow-stiffening gale 
Or icy-bound breath ever sat in a sail 
That shadowed these waters or sipped of the breeze, 
Or fled at the tramp of a storm on the seas; 
So kindly the airs on this sun-pampered shore, 
So passion-provoking, with love so rapport. 
One day in December — 'twere well to begin, 
If only to show how much love looks like sin. 

The winds had upbuilded a sea-wall of spray 

Lashed up from spent tempest one memorable day; 

The swell of the billows, the voicing of waves, 

The shrill, well-known cry from the far ocean caves, 

That beat like a bell or a funeral tune 

When swept by the wind — whether midnight or noon — 

Belabored the air with familiar refrain, 

And faithfully told of the storm on the main 

With telephone wit. The sands on the beach 

Were scarcely more countless, so far as could reach 

The vision to landward, more impotent too, 

Than human endeavors to capture the view 

That nature's broad gallery donated free 

This day in December, close down by the sea. 

*##***#* 

Days later fresh violets scented the air, 
And vapory perfumes of dank maiden-hair, 
Half wood and half swamp, led the senses away 
To meadowy places, where cool waters play 
Along the green banks. 

Then the pausing of wheels 
Called back the stray thoughts from the fanciful fields 
To a li'.he little figure, scarce more than a child, 
As fresh as the scents that this moment beguiled 
The fancy. Draped soft as the breast of a dove. 
In shades of the flowers she held in her glove, 
She swept up the marbled and ebonied hall, 
And smiled in the welcome of Mora and Paul. 

Ah, Persia! whence fled the oracular voice 

Which whispers its warning when left to make choice 

Of ways that are doubtful? What witcheried spell 

Entices thy feet through those portals? As well 

Make entry of hope at the gates of despair! 

Why heed not the warning? O Persia, beware! 

.* ' # # * # * # * 

The gray mists swung down by the low-sounding shore, 

And frosty-lipped surf bit the sands on the floor 

Of the unsheltered beach; and the blue windy hills — 

Keeping watch over mizzen and main as it fills 

In the face of the gale — held their breath in amaze 

As the storm combed their temples with roughening ways 

Down over the sea. Up the querulous street, 

With meddlesome, quizzing and hurrying feet, 

It ambled and swaggered and chattered along, 

Now wandering wayward, now mixed with the throng; 

Unconscious, uncaring, unconquered it went, 

Till the last beating breath of the storm-king was spent. 

*#*«««## 

When sorrow or ecstasy seize on the soul, 

How fleeting and flimsy the scenes that control 

Our commonest moods seem; how straightway we seek 

Dumb nature, unblaming, unblindcd, yet meek; 

Reposeful, yet sleeping; though toiling, untired; 

No supplicant woos her but finds the desired 

Response to his askings. The questioning shades 

Of doubt or distrust, in the passionless glades 

Or the intrigueless solitude, waken a strain 

As welcome as notes in a friendly refrain. 

**#***»» 

In the difficult light, when the day is done 

And the tawny fingers of night have begun 

To twine together the shadows and glints 

And tie them up with some neutral tints 

Of opal and onyx and amethyst 

In a soft, uncertain, irresolute twist; 

When the gray lids fall on the drowsy eyes 

Of the sapphire sea; there will sometimes rise 

From the shrouding mists of the sepulchred west, 

Like a taper new lit by a dead nun's breast, 

A hurrying flame, as if worlds in their flight 

Might have lashed their dull steeds into flecks of light 

In their race with the sun. 

Then the eager hills 
Hold their ample laps while the evening fills 
Every darkening fold, and the world helow 
Is immersed in one fathomless afterglow. 
• * # # # # * 

O misguided woman ! how blighted the sense 
That sees in the world and its morbid pretense 
Incentive more sweet and more subtile, supreme, 
Than dwells in the self-hood of women! Ah, deem 
The hyprocrite's garb no less sinful than sin, 
Or the panoplied purpose sincere for the thin 
And mocking devices of virtue it wears 
In disguise of the blemish it secretly bears! 
#***## * » 

Society forges its hardships and wrongs 
With all the unscrupulous art that belongs 
To womanly fates,. On much the same block 
It fashions her conscience, her stays and her frock; 
It Reaches the tricks/vhich 4 itifeigns to despise, 



Shifts all its own sins on its victim's unwise 

And unsheltered head, and with cowardly cringing 

Conceals its own hand while securing the hinging 

Of gates once enpassed. Ignoring the woman 

W ho works for her bread, with becoming acumen 

It makes recognition of such as elect 

To barter a soul, if but with circumspect 

And decorous seeming, by adding a clause — 

However perfidious — embraced in the laws, 

Then spreads its broad mantle in lewdish protection 

On shoulders disfigured with signs of subjection, 

And sneers at its votaries. Volatile, fickle, 

It thrusts in the blade of its leveling sickle 

And mows down all merit with merciless hand, 

Save such as for uses its patrons demand. 

There never was captive, and never a serf 

On Ural's broad base or Siberia's turf, 

More surely the slave of the leveling yoke 

Than they who Society's favors invoke 

Above their own strength. 

#*##**#» 

One moment she scanned them, her breath coming fast, 

Those witnesses beckoning the timorsome Past; 

But quickly besieged by some vigilant thought, 

Which oftenest comes when unsent and unsought, 

She clasped to her lips the unsanctified lines, 

Then twisted the leaves, like to one who resigns 

Death itself unto death. But once in a life 

We bury our dead out of sight. Husband, wife, 

Lover, friend — for them all we may hopelessly mourn, 

But one throb goes out with no tidal return; 

One wave that made empty no waters can fill; 

No need of a grave on a far windy hill, 

Or name'writ in gold; just as often abroad 

Walks Dark in the midst of the morning the road 

Alongside our own; in Religion's red light 

Or the shade of the Cross, still the lips may grow white; 

And never a river so calm and complete 

But has one shoreless place where Eternities meet. 

Thus Mora interred her dead; nevermore 

One echoing note from life's resolute score 

Should encumber her ear; so with unpalsied hand 

She cautiously gave to a perishing brand 

The letters; then watched while the black wrinkles fell 

And covered the memory of Rupert Blondell. 

*###***# 

How fares it with Fenly, his roots and his verbs, 

His clubs and flirtations, his billiards and herbs? 

With face irresponsible, yielding, mobile, 

With smile irresistibly sweet and facile, 

With even a voice quite persuasively keyed 

For passion or pity — to purr or to plead — 

He fully maintained his well-earned reputation 

Of masking his words with all imperturbation. 

Albeit he laughed with his scholarly guest 

As he tossed the Tokay with all manifest zest, 

A clever observer would surely discern 

The whitening smile and the half-furtive turn 

Of wide-open eyes, as the rustling gown 

Or the perfume of musk through the draperies blown 

Announced the approach of his wife. Yet of all 

The casual comers who most valued Paul 

For rare contributions to their epicurean* 

Tastes, there was not among them, I am sure, one 

Who saw through the mists of his own pampered sense 

The causes which led to such subtle pretense 

As Fenly essayed. 

######*# 
On the Mediterranean, eastward from Nice — 
The heart of her impulse, as Athens of Greece — 
The traveler recalls how a glittering vision 
Invites the tired eye up the slopes of elysian 
Delights; how the masses of marble and green, 
With perfume and fountain and foliage between, 
Look tenderly down -on the tideless old sea 
And the dim windless places that lie on the lea; 
How up the broad terrace they tirelessly go — 
Old age and young maidenhood — thither and fro, 
To deal with despair, both the timid and bold, 
While their pulses keep time to the clink of the gold. 
And yet among all of the eager-faced train, 
So hectic of cheek and bewildered of brain, 
Who madly defy all that fate can command 
On the turn of a wheel or the trick of a hand, 
Not one played his game with more desperate skill 
Or treasured his triumphs with heartier pride 
Than she, the bold gamester — this Mora McBride. 

####*### 

O Woman ! you waltz to the measures of wealth, 
You smile on your hero, you sip to his health, 
You dote on your baubles, you chatter and dance, 
And languish in luxury; meanwhile, perchance, 
He waits with mute lips on some perilous brink 
Where sweep the dark waters of destiny. Think ! 
The pleasures you covet his peace may disturb; 
The exotic you choose be his "diamonded herb; " 
You may barter his honor and mortgage his pride, 
Till, like drift on the beach left ashore by the tide, 
The sun of Society turns to decay 
The flattened fortunes itself swept away. 

« **##««* 

"The greatest is charity! " — ponder them well, 
These words that from lips sad and sinless once fell 
Like cool drops of water on fever-flushed faces, 
Or shadowy rocks along wearisome places. 

"The greatest is charity! " — verily, who 
But needs all the charity earth can bestow? 
*###»•«« 

If a resolute spirit but fixes it eye 

On some pinnacled purpose sufficiently high 

To escape the beset ments that rise in the way — 

The selfish allurements that lead it astray — 

It will cleave every effort to fetter its wing 

And each aspiration its answer will bring, 

As the torch that the fiercest of storms will outlast 

Is the torch borne aloft on the crest of the blast. 



*»»****# 

When Augusts are ended and Autumn suns shine 
Through vari-hued boskage and crimsoning vine, 
A little brown spider comes out of the haze 
With soul of deceit, yet with softest of ways; 
And, clad to the eye in some leveling shade 
Of russet and gray, he proceeds to invade 
The sacredest forest with armies of schemes 
Of fine-spun illusions, as subtile as dreams, 
For entangling some feeble and unwary wing 
In meshes as fateful as mirage. 

###«#•## 

I've wondered, when life is reduced to a scroll, 
When big with her travail the heavens shall unroll; 
When books shall be opened and actions undid, 
And hearts and intents can no longer be hid; 
If errors and crimes shall be found to have sexes, 
And whether the question of gender perplexes 
Savants of the higher and ultimate school 
So far, as with earthlings, as quite to control 
All edicts and verdicts; or if they define 
Transgression as masculine, sin feminine? 
Let those who can answer, still further decide 
The odds between Rupert and Mora McBride. 
* # # # # # # ■ # 
They lifted the form from the white marble stair, 
And threaded the lengths of the sunniest hair; 
The shapeliest fingers they curved to their will, 
And fashioned the eyelids, now stony and still; 
The violets, wet from the fountain's white crest, 
They tied in a knot for her maidenly breast, 
And the flowing folds of her creamy gown 
They rumpled lo rippling waves of down; 
And over the heart that was used to beat 
They laid the pale cross with its promise sweet. 



Pine-Street 3VIetho<ls in the Mountains. 



For some time it had been rumored that a wild man 
was living in Jack's valley, which lies a little to the south- 
ward of Carson City, the capital of our neighboring state. 
A few days ago a party of farmers started out with shot- 
guns and rifles, not to hunt the wild man, but to run 
down the supposititious grizzlies that had been making 
raids on their cattle. Toward nightfall the party came 
upon a wretched hut among the pines. The wild man 
thrust his head out of the door of the miserable shanty. 
His aspect was frightful. Rags covered his person, nails 
like talons tipped his fingers, a cataract of tangled iron- 
gray hair tumbled about his shoulders, and his eyes 
gleamed from beneath great shaggy eyebrows. What 
made his appearance peculiarly terrifying was a mass of 
white foam, which not only covered his mouth but the 
most of his face. 

The horsemen returned the strange creature's stare, 
speechless with surprise and fright. The wild man was 
the first to speak. He said : 

"How d'ye do, gentlemen? I can't ask you all in; 
but if you'll wait till I finish shaving, I'll come out and 
build a fire and make things as comfortable as possible 
for you." 

" By hokey ! " yelled one of the farmers, a little later, 
" here's my heifer ! " And he pointed to the carcass of a 
beast hanging by the heels from the limb of a tree. 

The other ranchers gathered around the heifer, and 
talked excitedly. 

" Let's lynch him ! " shouted the owner of the assassi- 
nated animal. 

"Lynch be hanged!" said the wild man, emerging 
from the hut, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Was 
that one of yours, Jones ? " 

" He knows me ! " exclaimed the owner of the heifer, in 
amazement. 

" Do you mean to say vou don't know me ? " asked the 
wild man. " Don't you remember Bob Scoopcm, the 
Pine-street broker, that went under in the Sierra Nevada 
deal and carried down $70,000 of your money with him I" 

"I do," said Farmer Jones, with emotion; "and I 

rec'nize you now ; but what in d'ye mean by stealin' 

my cattle ! Fer two cents I'd have yer blood I" 

" What 1" cried the wild man, indignantly. " Do you 
mean to say, Jones, that you've got the gall to stand there 
and talk about murdering me for a fifty dollar cow, when 
you never whimpered over the the $70,000 I sunk for you 
on the point Fair gave me, and which I passed along to 
you like a friend? Pah ! I haven't time to talk to a man 
with no more sense than you've got I" 

The wild man turned away angrily and disappeared in 
the hut, leaving the ranchers looking at one another and 
feeling pretty cheap. When he came out again he had a 
shotgun on his shoulder and a gunnysack, with eye-holes 
cut in it, over his head, 

"Make yourselves at home till I get back," said the 
wild man, with recovered good humor. " You can help 
yourselves to steaks from the heifer that Jones has paid 
in on the twenty-fifth assessment I've levied on the agri- 
cultural community. Fll be gone till midnight." 

" Where are you going?" asked Farmer Jones, respect- 
fully. 

"I'm going down the road to make a little deal in 
Wells-Fargo," replied the wild man ; and so saying, he 
faded into the darkness. 



Pauline Luca is still popular. She has recently been 
engaged to sing at three concerts in Moscow for one 
thousand pounds It is better to be born Luca than rich. 



8 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 

PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY 
At 420 Kearny street by 
Joseph T. Goodman, Arthur McEwen, Thomas E. Fi.vnn. 

Subscription : $4 per year, postage paid: single copies Ten Cents. 
Advertisements: Per month, % inch, $4; f£ inch, $5; 1 inch, $6; 2 inches, 
$10; and alt additional space $5 per inch. 

Newsdealers supplied by the San Francisco News Company, 210 Post st. 

"ENTERED AT THE SAN FRANCISCO POSTOFKICE AS SECOND-CLASS MATTER. 

SAN FRANCISCO - - - FEBRUARY 16, 1884 



INTRODUCTORY. 



This paper is published by three journalists who have 
had it in contemplation for some years. It is the out- 
come of a good deal of hard, definite thinking. There 
exists in the mind of every journalist who has" any brains 
or earnestness, an ideal paper, and the greatest happi- 
ness he looks for, this side of disembodied felicity, is the 
opportunity to give his ideal material form. It happened 
that three of us, thinking separately, exchanged ideas 
and found that we agreed in essentials. Hence T7ie San 
Franciscan. 

A year will be given the people to decide whether they 
like the paper well enough to buy it and advertise in it. 
77ie San Franciscan will be published that long anyway, 
whether it pays or not, for we mean to give our experi- 
ment a fair trial. If it fails wc shall know that we have 
been wrong in our estimate of our own abilities and in 
our notions of the sort of journal needed here. We have 
no expectation o r ailure, however. Naturally, we are 
not inclined to ' ■ r the suspicion that we are conceited 
fljpes, 01 that >1< • I- ••• i 1 and the rest of 

the state, are ■ £tirpid f o appreciate a bright 

■weekly, or ton of their c.»vn ''merest to refuse a 

living to one th,ii stnu i< . ! hi ne t, strong and free. 
We have a lively faith that th<_.e is room for The San 
Franciscan. 

We shall not depend wholly upon our own pens to 
make the paper worth reading. Arrangements have been 
made for contributions from writers in all parts of the 
country who have won reputation. But while under- 
standing the value of well-known names to any literary 
journal, and especially to a new one, we shall not 
depend upon them too much. Anybody, unknown as 
well as known, who can write matter of the kind we 
want, will get a welcome from the The San Franciscan, 
and a remunerative price for the work. We have a hope — 
and it is not by any means a faint one — that we shall in 
time work a literary revival on the Pacific coast. It 
stands to reason that there must be much literary talent 
dormant among a million or more of people who, as a 
whole, are in intelligence and education rather beyond 
the average of the rest of the country. Since Mark 
Twain went to the East to find an audience that would 
laugh at the humor which has since made everybody 
laugh ; since Bret Harte wrote the fine sketches in the old 
Overland which earned him far-away applause, that made 
him hated at home ; since Joaquin Miller left us for Lon- 
don, unable to find a publisher here who would print the 
poems that pleased the world; since Henry George, 
sneered at among us as a crank, carried his book to the 
other side of the continent and gained renown as a 
thinker whose thoughts have forced the respect of the 
learned and won the hopeful interest of the toiling mob 
in half a dozen nations — no writer of considerable note 
has arisen here. California has not been hospitable to 
her men of genius and talent. Her press has been stupid 
enough not to perceive the merit of their work when pre- 
sented for original judgment, and narrow and mean 
enough to depreciate it when it has been carried to a 
better market. 

When the big fish in the lake of literature have got this 
sort of treatment, it is not to be expected that the smaller 
ones should be dealt with tenderly. The tone of the 
literary press toward beginners is in the highest degree 
cruel and stupid. It is habitually assumed that it is the 
rawest presumption in an unknown young man or woman 
to attempt to write anything for print, the editorial dolts 
apparently forgetting, in their desire to impress upon the 
public a burdensome sense of their own importance, that 
it is from the amateur crowd that the ranks of the pro- 
fessional army must be recruited. So it has come to pass 
that only after years of struggle, rebuff, insult and morti- 
fication can a young man or woman — unless of a talent 
so high that there is precious little of it in existence — 
make his or her way into the writing coteries. The prizes 
are not worth the fight. 

Instead of repelling young writers, T7ie San Franciscan 
will encourage them — those who have the courage to be 



themselves, write as they think and feel, and who have 
enough mental sinew in them to be above imitating the 
affected daintiness and languor of the literary style which 
has so powerful a fascination for most of our esteemed 
and too-consciously genteel contemporaries. Nobody 
who aims to be a literary dude need apply at this shop. 
We want men and women to write for us, not prigs. 

In the literary departments of the paper we shall not 
go about our work in too serious a spirit. The world 
needs reforming, of course, but we doubt if preaching is 
the best way to make it better. That which deserves 
ridicule shall be ridiculed without mercy, and pretenders 
of all sorts— political, religious and social — shall be the 
just prey of our writers and artists. We hope to make it 
devilish uncomfortable for humbugs of every degree, and 
the flaying of them, we trust, will make each Saturday a 
holiday for honest folks while The San Franciscan lasts. 

The founders of this paper have an earnest purpose 
which will, we hope, give it a distinctive character, and 
commend it to men of thought and patriotic feeling. 
We have convictions, and mean to express them frankly 
and strongly. The San Franciscan will not shout the 
war cries of either of the political parties, since it has a 
weary contempt for both of them. We are not singular 
in this. The only men who have to-day a real interest 
in the parties are those who live by them, and that 
larger class who arc natural partisans and must move 
with a crowd 0/ not at all. Neither party has the cour- 
age any longer to harness its policy to its declared prin- 
ciples. The Democratic party is anxious to forget its 
past; the Republican party asks that only its past shall 
be remembered. Neither holds out promises for the fu- 
ture large enough or sincere enough to rouse the citizen 
to partisan enthusiasm. The Republican party when 
charged with the sins of its maturity, points to its virtuous 
youth as an offset and a justification for continuance in 
vice. The most important symptom of healthy life given 
by the Democracy for twenty years was the election of 
Carlisle to the Speakership. That seemed to mean a 
decided step in the direction of free trade; but ever since 
Carlisle's elevation the energy of the press and politicians 
of the party has been given to anxious efforts to explain 
to the people that they were mistaken in supposing that 
the leaders of the Democracy were capable of originat- 
ing and standing by an aggressive policy. Apparently 
they desire it to be understood that while they perceive 
and reprobate the thievish absurdities of the protect- 
ive system, they would on no account be suspected 
of a serious intention of doing away with them. 
It is the rascally poltroonery of 1880 over again — 
when the orators of the party, standing on a free- 
trade platform, preached protection. The gout and 
carbuncles of the high-fed Republican party are no 
more disgusting than the glare of hunger in the fierce 
eyes of the starved Democracy is terrifying. Neither 
party asks to be given power on its merits, but because of 
the demerits of the other. " Turn the rascals out," was 
tried a little while ago by the chief Democratic journal 
of the country as the rallying cry for the coming Presi- 
dential fight. " Keep the rascals out," was the counter 
yell of the Republicans. To this base level the politics 
of the country have sunk. The people would be but too 
glad if they could see a way to respond to the appeal of 
both parties by turning the rascals out and keeping other 
rascals from taking their places; but with the antiquated 
political machinery in use there is no immediate prospect 
of being able to mend matters, and we must goon making 
at each election a choice of evils. In the penitentiary 
for pledge-breakers and the gallows for bribe-givers and 
bribe-takers we see a partial remedy. 

The truth is that both the parties have lost their blood 
and brains. The feebleness and timidity of old age are 
upon them. They hobble about on the crutches of 
memory, and have eyes only for the past. They dare 
not venture from the dusty paths in which they have al- 
ways walked. No doubt the green pastures of experi- 
mental fields often look inviting enough to the larger- 
minded among the political leaders, but their pluck fails 
them when the impulse comes to climb over the stout 
fences of tradition which inclose the party corrals. 
Money has got a deadly grip upon the throats of the 
parties. It has packed the Senate in its interest, and 
placed its menials even upon the Supreme Bench. The 
corporations are stronger in Washington than all the rest 
of the country. They defy the people to govern them. 
The men who shape the action of both parties stand in 
fear before this corporate despotism, and give it only 
sham battle with their jaws when the vote-catching sea- 
son recurs. 

The Republican and Democratic parties cumber the 



ground. They block the pathway to progress. Neither 
dares to face the problems which engage the most earnest 
and deepest though^ of the time. Our republican ex- 
periment of something more than a century has proved 
clearly that free political institutions do not prevent the 
development simultaneously of the millionaire and the 
pauper. We are learning that the benefits of the amazing 
increase in productive power which this century of me- 
chanical invention has given go mostly to the few, while 
the mass of the people remain as poor and hard-worked 
as in the days when steam dwelt in the tea-kettle and 
electricity flashed away its time unprofitably in the heav- 
ens. While we have so incalculably augmented our pro- 
ductive power, the social machinery for the distribution 
of the resulting wealth remains as rude as when grain was 
thrashed with flails and the cobbler stood for the shoe 
factory. The best that we are able to do with the vast 
wealth created by the labor of all is to hand it over in 
fifty and hundred-million piles to a few deserving gentle- 
men like Could, Huntington and Yanderbilt. Assuredly 
it ought to be an easier matter to fairly divide wheat after 
we have grown it, and shoes after we have made them, 
than to grow and make these things; but, in reality, we 
are groping like lost idiots in the dark before this problem 
of division. It is /he problem, and one that will force its 
way to practical attention with accelerating power. A 
political party is needed that will face it frankly, and 
make its solution the end of its activity. Neither of the 
present parties dares even to acknowledge that it exists, 
so stupidly cowardly are they. 

But though The San Franciscan has a hearty contempt 
for the triviality and inadequacy of the sort of seven-by- 
nine politics which both parties are determined to deal 
in, it understands well enough that if a fight for better 
things is to be made at all, it must be made with the 
weaj)ons within reach. It will, therefore, have its say when 
the pigmy battles are being fought, and do its best to help 
to victory the side that temporarily offers the most public 
good — or rather, the least public ill. For partisanship in 
petty matters we have no taste, but neutrality when a 
ruction is in progress is still more foreign to our inclina- 
tion. So we shall, as occasion demands, jump into the 
thick of the fight, armed with the cudgel of common 
sense, and rap the head . that most need rapping. 

We do not expect that this paper will please everybody ; 
on the contrary, we hope to displease a great many 
people. But among those whom we shall not displease 
will be all men and women who like plain speaking about 
grave matters; who have no sympathy with abuse of men 
because of their race or religion ; who believe in liberty of 
thought and toleration of opinion different from their own ; 
who hate shams ; who like to laugh at snobs ; who enjoy the 
scarification of rascals, and who feel healthy disgust for 
humor which depends for its point upon nastiness. We 
look for support to the intelligent and decent people of 
the city and state. The San Franciscan will have few 
charms for the leisure class of Tar Flat,, the dancing 
millionaires of Nob Hill, or other members of the un- 
educated and vicious element of our society. 



THE FIELD CONSPIRACY. 



An anonymous circular has been sent from Sacramento 
to prominent Democrats throughout the state, asking 
them a number of questions bearing upon the coming 
Presidential contest, and particularly inquiring how Jus- 
tice Stephen J. Field would suit them as a candidate. 

This circular doubtless is one sign of the conspiracy in 
progress to secure for Justice Field the Pacific Coast dele- 
gation to the Democratic National Convention. There 
should be no mistake about the nature of this conspiracy. 
It is extensive and formidable, and its agents are hard at 
work already. It embraces the powers which are all but 
irresistible in the game of making nominations, though 
not yet invincible when the people meet them at the ba!- 
lotbox. Enormous wealth is behind Field. Wealth is 
always able to enlist the professional politicians in its 
service, and the professional politicians manage generally 
to do pretty much as they please with primaries and con- 
ventions. If money can buy the nomination and elec- 
tion, Justice Field will be the next President. 

The chief backer of Field is the Central Pacific Rail- 
road Company, which he has served well; and in serving 
it he has gained the favor of the predatory rich every- 
where. His only disinterested admirers are his brother 
lawyers, who, with almost unanimous voice, declare him 
to be a great jurist. Certainly his knowledge of the law 
is profound, and its elasticity in his hand is marvelous. 
The Thurman Act, to compel the overland railroad com- 
panies to make provision for the payment of their debt to 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



the government, became under his analysis a dangerous 
attempt of the federal power to invade state 'sovereignty — 
the Central Pacific being a California corporation ; the 
effort of the state to exercise its sovereignty in the man- 
ner of taxing this company became a dangerous attempt 
of the state to violate the Federal Constitution. No 
wonder that lawyers should admire legal ability like this, 
and no wonder that the Central Pacific people should 
feel friendly toward a judge who can be depended upon 
at all times to stretch the law protectingly over its 
pocket. 

Justice Field is intensely unpopular on the Pacific- 
Coast. His decisions, so invariably pleasing to the cor- 
porations, sufficiently explain this state of feeling. The 
conspiracy contemplates a management of the press that 
shall prevent any disastrous expression of the people's 
hostility toward Field's candidacy. We shall see Repub- 
lican journals change hands and become Field organs; 
we shall see Republican journals remain Republican, but 
offer an opposition so faint and respectful that it will be 
more flattering than advocacy ; we shall see Democratic 
journals which have spoken the truth about Judge Field 
in the past, swallowing all their condemnation. There 
will be a newspaper boom for Field all along the line. 
Indeed the first murmur of the hired chorus can be heard 
already. 

Money can do many things. It may buy the Pacific 
Coast Democratic delegation for Justice Field; it may 
even nominate him ; but we do not believe it can elect 
him to the Presidency. Certainly it cannot carry Cali- 
fornia for him. Mr. Crocker as a candidate for a place 
on the Railroad Commission would stand as good a 
chance of success as Justice Field would of getting the 
electoral votes of this state. No ingenuity could disguise 
the fact that he was the Central Pacific's candidate, and 
that fact would damn him, as he ought to be damned. 



MR. FOOTE'S REPORT. 

Railroad Commissioner Foote's minority report has been 
published, but it has not drawn much attention from the 
newspapers or made a public stir. There are two reasons 
for this. The first is that the report is so long that few 
editors, or other people, have had the time and courage 
needed to read it ; and the second is that it tells us nothing 
new that is of much importance. Still, the report is an 
interesting production, and rewards the reader for his 
trouble in going through it. 

Mr. Foote gives us the familiar information that the 
Central Pacific Railroad people enriched themselves by 
chicane and fraud in the building of the road ; that they 
have ever since drawn dividends upon capital never in- 
vested ; that they insolently refuse to give — or profess to 
be unable to give — information to the Commissioners need- 
ful to a definite knowledge of the cost and earnings of 
the roads, which would enable them, if they were so dis- 
posed, to intelligently and systematically regulate charges. 
All this the public know already; but Mr. Foote's history 
of the road from its beginning, and of the various acts of 
doubtful honesty and undoubted rascality which made up 
the sum of the villainy practiced in the building of the 
line, is put in a well-arranged and striking form that 
gives it real value. 

Mr. Crocker will derive no pleasure from reading this 
report, for it convicts him of being guilty of much trans- 
parent evasion and some good solid lying while under ex- 
amination as a witness before the Commissioners last 
ummer. When Mr. Foote gets done with Mr. Crocker 
he leaves upon the reader's mind the impression that this 
prudent millionaire has always had a justcr notion of the 
danger of leaving undestroyed written evidence of crime 
than was entertained by his confrere, Mr. Huntington, 
when he artlessly intrusted to the care of General Colton 
the correspondence which lost him and his partners the 
Texas Pacific land grant, and which should land him in 
state prison — and would, if the law were not a crude con- 
trivance which, however efficacious for the punishment of 
small rascals, is next to useless for giving big ones their 
deserts. Mr. Crocker has prudently lost, or laid away so 
carefully that no one can find them, the books of the 
Contract and Finance Company, and all records that 
would show just how well the directors of the Central Pa- 
cific paid themselves for building the road. 

But it is when Mr. Foote comes to his fellow-Commis- 
sioners that he is most interesting. It is not that there is 
anything fresh in the matter of his statements, but it is 
something to have Messrs. Carpenter and Humphreys pic- 
tured as pledge-breaking scoundrels, hirelings of the rail- 
road company, and cowards, by their brother Commis- 
sioner. Of course Mr.' Foote does not so far forget the 
uses of official phraseology as to say these hard things of 



his colleagues in plain English, but he comes as near 
doing it as the forms of courteous writing will permit. 
He presents facts which have a meaning as clear as the 
stoutest Saxon words could convey. He contrasts their 
written promises before their election with their written 
excuses for non-action afterwards, asserts that no changes 
in freight or passenger charges have yet been made that do 
not meet with the approval of the railroad company, and 
hints broadly that his colleagues were afraid to remain 
over night in Hanford because of the hostile feeling 
shown by the people there toward them. 

Mr. Foote takes a good deal of space, it is true, to say* 
that the projectors of the Central Pacific acquired when 
building the road habits of theft, which they have not 
since shaken off; that Carpenter and Humphreys act 
wholly in the interest of the railroad company, and that it 
is vain to expect them to do anything which they have not 
the Central Pacific's permission to do— but Mr. Foote says 
all this well, and the great length of his report is chiefly 
due to the fact that he makes no important assertion or 
charge without backing it with extracts from the record. 

It is a remarkable proof of the patience of the people 
of California that two men, elected on their promise to 
put an end to railroad thievery, but who, now they are in 
office refuse to raise a finger to stop the spoliation, should 
daily and nightly walk the streets as safely as if they were 
honest and harmless citizens. 



JENKINS. 

Some ladies in Washington — we have forgotten their 
names, and are sorry for it, as we should like to do them 
the honor of giving them respectful mention — have caused 
it to be made known that hereafter when they invite 
friends and acquaintances to their homes to dance or 
otherwise amuse themselves, no reporters will be admitted. 
We are hopeful enough to regard this as a straw on the 
social stream that indicates a turn of the tide. We wish 
that it may turn so vigorously as to upset and drown 
every Jenkins now floating in his paper boat, uniformed 
in the hired claw-hammer of his tribe. Perhaps by the 
time the nineteenth century has polkaed into the past, 
Jenkins will live only in history, with the dodo and ptero- 
dactyl. We see in his work the seed of its own destruc- 
tion. It has grown so rankly luxuriant that it must topple 
and fall, and, like everything tropical, decay quickly. 
When everybody's parties and everybody's name get into 
print, as they do now, thanks to Jenkins, there is promi- 
nence in being left unmentioned. Possibly the desire for 
this distinction has partly moved tKese Washington ladies 
to slam the door in the face of the press. It is a painful 
snub, but it is far milder than the press has earned. 

Why should a reputable journal put on livery and enter 
the service of "society " — a society whose intellect finds 
full and satisfying expression in" dancing, eating and 
dressing? Men with the intelligence necessary to make 
newspapers. cannot have any illusions about this society. 
They despise it and laugh at it in private ; but for all that 
they hurry to do it the honor of writing respectfully of it. 
Rivalry in profitable toadyism accounts for the presence 
of Jenkins on every newspaper's staff. There is money in 
Jenkins's work. When that ceases to be true, the inter- 
est of the business office will come into harmony with the 
taste of the editorial room, and Jenkins will be no more. 
We think the fact that really good society does not get 
into print is making its way. The sort of society into 
which money cannot buy its entrance — and there is, thank 
heaven, society of this kind in every American city — is 
forbidden ground to Jenkins. His place of activity is 
among the vulgar rich, and the vulgar poor who strive 
to imitate them. 

Jenkins has overloaded the public stomach with his 
sweets, and signs of nausea encourage the observer. One 
can endure Jenkins when his employers confine him to a 
department — for then one can skip him ; but when he is 
permitted to diffuse himself through the whole newspaper, 
like a bad odor, revolt is inevitable. Witness the daily 
dispatches, to which we turn for the world's news. We 
find Jenkins there, 'filling more space with the details of a 
dance, or a dinner, or a petty squabble among society 
women, than is devoted to a battle in which thousands of 
our fellow creatures are slain. Why should all the world 
be taken by the ear in this way and made to listen be- 
cause Vanderbilt gives a ball, or Astor a dinner, or 
Crocker invites a crowd of nobodies to his house to hop 
and feed ?. Why should Vanderbilt and Astor and 
Crocker, and people like them, be paraded as social 
leaders ? Have they learning or wit ? Have they done 
good deeds or great deeds, that they should be famous? 

It is something worse than bad taste to give men like 
these the prominence injour social life which the news- 



papers accord them. It is corrupting, for it is the dei 
cation oi money— money got no matter how. 

We do not mean to say, of course, that everyone who 
receives the attentions of Jenkins is a vulgarian. Many 
quite worthy people go , thoughtlessly with the fashion, 
whatever it may happen to be. But those who when at 
Rome do as the Romans do, may easily be mistaken for 
Romans. So persons who tolerate Jenkins in their 
houses, however respectable they may be, must not com- 
plain if a loosely discriminating world classes them with 
Vande/bilt, Astor and Crocker. Moreover, those who 
encourage Jenkins to publicly plaster them with his Mat- 
tery cannot justly object if their claims to social promi- 
nence should be as publicly examined and derided. There 
will be an increase of this disagreeable variety of litera- 
ture before long, unless Jenkins be abated. This prospect 
is not altogether to be deplored. The fear of ridicule is 
a fine incentive to modest behavior. 

New fashions often spread rapidly. Perhaps the Wash- 
ington ladies who cast out Jcnjdns have kicked him better 
than they knew, and that it will become the mode for 
people whose co-operative social efforts result in nothing 
higher than skipping to music and the consumption of food, 
to do these things in private, and not to bore the rest of 
the world by paying Jenkins to blazon these easy achieve- 
ments in imperishable type. 



Telegraph wires and type are being rattled to call atten- 
tion to the fact that Senator Logan of Illinois is a candidate 
for the Republican Presidential nomination. When one 
considers the sort of men who have reached the Presidency 
of late years, it is hardly fair to accuse anyone of presump- 
tion who thinks himself large enough for the place, but 
assuredly the Republicans ought to be able to pick out a 
bigger and better man than Logan. In public life he has 
been mainly distinguished for the arrogance and brutality 
of his political methods. He is a machine man, and 
beats down opposition with a club. He is too coarse of 
fiber to resort to finesse — witness the manner of his capture 
of the Illinois Convention in i8<8o, in Grant's interest, 
which the Half-breeds used so effectively in their outcry 
against the unit rule. Logan's ability is considerable, but 
it is out of all proportion to his vanity, which is enor- 
mous. He is a third-class man of a bad school — a school 
of which the people are more than tired, as has been 
shown by the recent pretty general revolt against boss rule. 
A party which has such men as Conkling and Edmunds 
within it would be daft to nominate Logan. 

. "Sarah Barnum " is for sale at all the book-stands, at 
a price which brings it within the means of even the 
schoolboys and schoolgirls. There is nothing worse in all 
the classics than this book — not even in Rabelais. Its 
black filth is relieved by scarcely one spark of wit. It is 
merely the biography of one foul creature, written by or 
for another even more depraved, who is fired to her work 
by envy and hate. If any author, writing in English, 
should give such a composition to the public he would 
be in jail before the printer's ink had dried on the out- 
rage, and there would be universal regret that the cat-o'- 
nine-tails has been retired from service. There is no rea- 
son why the law should be suspended in favor of the 
translators of writers in the language of the politest and 
lewdest nation of the earth. 



Among the contributions to this number of The San 
Franciscan there are two which we regard as worthy of 
unusual attention — those of Mr. Fitch and Mark Twain. 
Mr. pitch is always brilliant, but in his treatment of the 
subject of the sufferings of Ireland under British rule we 
think he has excelled himself. No matter what view of 
the question the reader may hold, he can not but be 
thrilled by the eloquence, vigor and wit ol Mr. Fitch's 
presentation of the Irish side of the controversy. Mark 
Twain has never written anything funnier than the article 
on the fossil footprints in the state prison yard in Carson, 
with which he has favored us. The sustained humor of 
the production is inimitable. We arc glad to be able to 
promise further contributions from Mr. Fitch and Mark 
Twain in the near future. 

The material advantages of sobriety— to say nothing of 
the moral benefits— are signally shown in the case of the 
members of the Dashaway Association. Had this hand- 
ful of workers in the cause of temperance been tipplers, 
they would not have been members of the Dashaway 
Association, and if not members, then they would not 
have come in for their dividends on the sale of the property 
which did not belong to them. Young men cannot have 
it impressed upon them too often that temperance.is the 
road to wealth. 



IO 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



STRANGE HAWAIIAN TRADITIONS. 

BV HON. R. M. DAGGETT. 



The ancient religion of the Hawaiian archipelago — the 
religion to which the aborigines of the group yielded a 
faithful and unquestioned obedience until the early part 
of the pie$ent century — the religion which still retains a 
strong hold 'upon the native Hawaiian heart, notwithstand- 
ing sixty years of ceaseless Christian effort to stamp it out ; 
this religion, as handed down by tradition and taught by 
the priesthood before its temples were overthrown and its 
nteles began to pass from the memory of its bards, was the 
most remarkable theocracy ever developed by an isolated 
and unciv ilized people. To a sharply drawn history of 
creation, of the fall of man and his expulsion from Para- 
dise, of the revolt of Lucifer, of the Deluge and the re- 
population of the earth, was added a mythology scarcely 
less marvelous than the Greek or Norse, and from which 
was derived an idolatry embracing the worship not only of 
the Godhead, but of innumerable lares and deities of 
specific functions, and a priesthood scarcely second in 
authority to the temporal rulers. 

But it is not of the vanishing religion of the un-Chris- 
tianized Hawaiians, with its grinding tabus and bloody 
sacrificial rites, that I purpose now to speak. I desire 
simply to refer to the Hawaiian traditions of the creation — 
to the historic meles so strangely in accord with the He- 
brew genesis — to the legends upon which were engrafted 
at some time in the remote past the idolatrous forms, 
which by royal decree were abolished, together with the 
dreaded tabu, two years before the arrival of the first 
Christian missionary. These traditions of the creation, 
however closely they may be found to follow the story of 
the Pentateuch, are of undoubted antiquity, and have 
been gathered from the lips of native bards, who received 
them in due form from their privileged predecessors before 
they could have learned anything of the Christian's God. 
And let me say further, that these traditions seem to em- 
brace a more complete genealogy from the creation of 
n.an to the Deluge than has been preserved by the He- 
s; and although it is evident that the Hebrew and 
1 1 '^aiian accounts must have had a common origin, the 
difference is sufficient to show that they have come down 
to the present through distinct channels. 

To begin at the beginning of the Hawaiian story of the 
creation, from eternity a trinity of gods existed, who were 
the sole and all-pervading intelligences 'of chaos, or night — 
a condition called by the Hawaiians Po. These gods 
were Kane, the organizer, Ku, the builder, and Lotto, the 
director of the elements. By the act of their united will 
light was brought into chaos. They then created the 
heavens — three in number — as their dwelling-place, and 
next, the earth, to serve as their footstool. The sun, 
moon and stars were next created, and then from their 
spittle they brought into being a host of angels to minister 
to their wants. Finally man was made. His body was 
formed from spitile and red earth, and his head from spit- 
tle and a whitish clay, brought by Lotto from the four 
quarters of the earth. He was made in the image of Kane, 
who breathed into his nostrils, and he became alive. He 
was named Kumu-honua. Afterwards, from one of his 
ribs, taken from his side while he slept, a woman was 
created, who was called Ke-ola-ku-honua. 

This story of the creation of man corresponds essentially 
with the Mosaic account ; but there is another Hawaiian 
tradition referring to a previous creation, substantially in 
the order and by the methods here related. Even the 
names of the man and woman of that creation are given. 
But the race was of short duration. The gods were in- 
censed at their wickedness, and destroyed the world with 
fire, resolving all created things back into chaos. 

The next creation was permitted to continue, although, 
in accordance with the Jewish version, after eight or 
ten generations a Hawaiian Noah and his family alone 
survived a general deluge. But, to continue the story in 
proper order, after the creation of Kuniu-honua and his 
female helpmate, they were placed in Paradise. It was a 
beautiful spot called Paliuli. It abounded in all that 
was attractive to the eye and delicious to the taste. It 
contained a lake or spring, from which flowed the " living 
waters of Katie "in three outlets — one for Kane, another for 
Kit, and a third for L^ono. The waters were filled with fish 
which fire could not destroy ; and on being sprinkled with 
it the dead were restored to life. Legends relate instances 
in which these waters were procured through the favor of 
the gods for the restoration to life of distinguished mortals. 
There were also in Paliuli " the tabued bread-fruit tree,' 
and " the sacred apple tree," which tradition connects 
with the expulsion of the first man and woman from this 
garden of the gods. It was a sacred or tabued spot, 
apparently nearly connected with the abode of the gods, 
and none but the pure, sinless and unselfish could enter it. 

As a specimen of the chants perpetuating these tradi- 
tions and embellishing the plainer prose recitals, the fol- 
lowing extract relating to the creation of man may interest 
the reader : 

Kane of the great Night, 

Ku and Lono of the great Night, 

Hika-po-loa the King. 

The tabued Night that is set apart, 

The poisonous Night, 

The barren, desolate Night, 

The continual darkness ot Midnight, 

The Night, the reviler. 



O Kane, O Ku-ka-pao, 
And great Lono dwelling on the water, 
Brought forth are Heaven and Earth, 
Quickened, increased, moving, 
Raised up into Continents. 

Kane, Lord of Night, Lord the Father, 

Ku-ka-pao, in the hot heavens, 

Great Lono, with the flashing eyes, 

Lightning-like has the Lord 

Established in truth, 0 Kane, master worker; 
The Lord Creator of mankind: 
Start, work, bring forth the Chief Ku-Honua, 
An Ola- Ku-Honua, the woman; 
Dwelling together are they two, 

Dwelling in marriage (is she) with the husband, the 
brot her. 

The Hawaiian story refers very emphatically to the 
sedition in Heaven which Milton has stamped almost as a 
reality upon the Christian mind, and connects it directly 
with the creation of man. The Hawaiian Lucifer is 
Kanaloa. He was prominent among the angels created 
by the Trinity to serve as the messengers of Heaven. 
When man was created, he was permitted to worship and 
make sacrifice to the gods alone. To this Kanaloa ob- 
jected. He claimed that the homage of man was due to 
angels, and failing to receive it from Kutnu-honua, he 
attempted to create a man of his own who would worship 
him. He made the model of clay, just as the gods had 
done. It was perfect in all its parts, but he could not 
give it life. He breathed into its nostrils, but it would not 
rise; he called to it, but it would not speak. This ex- 
asperated him, and in his wrath he resolved to destroy the 
man made bv the gods. Either immediately before or 
after his fruitless experiment in man-making, Kanaloa 
organized a sedition in Heaven, and rallied to his stand- 
ard a host of ambitious angels; but the rebels were over- 
thrown, and with their chief thrust down into the dark- 
ness of Po, there to dwell forever. 

But Kanaloa did not forget his threat to destroy the man 
created by the gods and placed in Paliuli. Either assum- 
ing the form of or controlling a reptile called Llioha in the 
older traditions, he induced Kumu-honua and the woman 
to disobey some command of the gods not clearly stated, 
and they were driven from Paliuli by "the large white 
bird of Kane." As referred to by one of the chants : 

The llioha, mischief-maker, stands on the land; 
He has caught the chief Ku-honua, 
And Polo-Haina, the woman, 
The tabu chiefs of Kane, etc., etc. 

Kutnu-honua had three sons, the second of whom was 
slain by the first. The name of the Hawaiian Cain is 
Laka. There are preserved three different genealogies 
from Kutnu-honua to Nuu, the Hawaiian Noah of the 
Deluge. The most trustworthy of these genealogies — the 
one brought down to the present by the highest chiefs and 
which could not be taught to the common people — gives 
fourteen generations from Kumu-honua to Nuu on the line 
of L.aka, while the Mosaic account mentions but eight. 
Thirteen generations are given on the line of the youngest 
son, Ka Pili, whereas the Hebrew version records but ten 
on the corresponding line of Seth. Although these Ha- 
waiian genealogies have been brought down through dif- 
ferent channels — one, for example, by the chiefs and 
priests of Hawaii, and another by the chiefs and priests of 
Kauai and Oahu— the names are identical, and only differ 
in one having a generation in excess of the other. 

The Hawaiians have several traditions and chants relat- 
ing to the Deluge. As the gods determined to punish 
mankind for their wickedness, they commanded Nuu to 
build a large vessel, roofed over like a house, and take 
into it with him his wife (LJliNae), his three sons and 
their wives, and a male and female of every living thing. 
This he did. The flood came, covering all the land, and 
when the waters subsided Kane, Ku and L^ono entered 
the ark and told Nuu to disembark. He found himself 
in the land of Kahiki-honua-kele, an extensive and fertile 
country, where he continued to dwell to the end of his 
life. I cannot refer to the several traditions in detail ; 
but, taken as a whole, they so far differ from the scrip- 
tural account as to warrant the author of " The Polyne- 
sian Race " in assuming that they were derived neither 
from Chaldee nor Hebrew versions, but may have had 
with them a common origin. 

Nor does the Hawaiian genealogical record stop with 
the Deluge. We are told that Nuu had three sons, whose 
names are given, and that in the tenth generation from 
him arose a " second Nuu," known as Ku-Pule, who re- 
moved to " the southern country," where he took the 
name of Lalo-Kona, and by his slave-woman Ahu became 
the father of Ku-Na7vao, and the father of Kalani A/ene- 
hune by his wife Mee-LLiwa. This tradition very plainly 
points to Abraham, the tenth from Noah. It also credits 
Ku-Pule with having established the practice of circumci- 
sion, and with being the grandfather of Kini-lau-a-mano, 
whose twelve children became the founders of twehe 
tribes, from one of which — the Mene-hune tribe — the Ha- 
waiians are made to descend. 

One tradition preserved by Kamakau, the Hawaiian 
archaeologist, bears so close a resemblance to the story of 
the escape of the Israelites from Egypt and their final set- 
tlement in the Holy Land, that Judge Pomander, the 
learned historian of Maui, could be induced to accept it 
as a genuine Hawaiian legend only after discovering its 
corroboration in traditions of undoubted antiquity. This 
recital is to the effect that Kealii-Wahanui, king of a 
country called Honua-i-lalo , so oppressed the Mene-hune 
people that Kane, their god, sent Kane-Apua and his 



brother to take them away and lead them to a land which 
he ( Kane) had provided for them, called Aina-L.auena-a- 
Kane; that they observed four days at the beginning of 
the month and made sacrifices in celebration of their de- 
parture ; that after reaching Kai-ula-a-Kane (the Red Sea 
of Kane) they were pursued by Kealii-Wahanui; and 
that in their distress Kane-Apua prayed to Lono, when 
they were enabled to wade across the sea, after which 
they traveled through deserts and finally reached their 
destination. 

Many other Hawaiian traditions seem to be the echo, if 
not the original, of events connected with the Biblical 
history of the Hebrews ; but enough in this connection has 
been given to meet the purposes of the present writing. 
Nor is it thought necessary to refer in detail to the many 
customs of the earlier Hawaiians, which also char- 
acterized the Israelites; but among them may be men- 
tioned the practice of circumcision, which was not discon- 
tinued until after the death of Kamehameha I., and the 
maintenance of cities or places of refuge, under the care 
of the priesthood, which gave protection to all who sought 
their shelter. 

I have observed but a single reasonable explanation of 
the existence of these traditions among a barbarous- and 
unlettered people, who for nearly two thousand years had 
been imprisoned in the midst of a mighty waste of waters, 
and to whom the existence of other lands had become as 
mythical as the abodes of their gods. That explanation 
is offered by the eminent scholar, Judge Fornander, in 
his laboriously prepared volumes entitled " An Account 
of the Polynesian Race," to which I am almost wholly 
indebted for the traditions and facts of which I have made 
use. He assumes, and sustains the position with an array 
of philological characteristics and ancient folk-lore which it 
would not be in place here to follow, that the Hawaiians, 
and perhaps some other of the Polynesian races, were 
originally from the tribes of Israel ; that after the captivity 
they drifted into Arabia, where they remained for a con- 
siderable period; that by stages they gradually moved 
down into Southern Asia, taking with them their ancient 
traditions, but in time uniting with them the polytheism 
and worship of the races with which they were brought in 
contact ; that, following in the wake of Chaldeo-Arabian 
commerce, after leaving India they occupied the Asiatic 
archipelago from Sumatra to Luzon and Timor; that 
their arrival in the archipelago was probably coincident 
with the Hindu and Malay invasions of Sumatra, Java and 
other neighboring islands during the first and second cent- 
uries of the Christian era ; that in their migrations east- 
ward they finally reached the Fiji group ; that they were 
superior to the native Papuans found there, but to some 
extent amalgamated with them and absorbed their reli- 
gious traditions; that they either voluntarily left the 
Fiji group, owing to an excess of population, or were 
expelled by the natives about the third century ; 
that they then occupied in turn the Samoan, 
Marquesan and Society islands, and finally arrived at the 
Hawaiian group in the sixth century ; that from the sixth 
to the tenth century they were completely isolated from, 
and held no communication with, the other islands of 
Polynesia ; that at the close of the tenth or beginning of 
the eleventh century, and for some time thereafter, a num- 
ber of expeditions arrived from the Society Islands, em- 
bracing considerable numbers of people and chiefs, who, 
either by conquest or intermarriage, in time became the 
dominant rulers of the several habitable islands of the 
group, and from whom the past and present dynasties 
claim descent. 

Although tradition refers to the landing on the coast of 
Hawaii of a small party of shipwrecked sailors two or three 
centuries ago, and the arrival at some vague period of the 
past of two white persons — one of them a female — who in- 
termarried with the natives, it is plain that not only the 
face of the white man but his ships as well were unfamiliar 
to the Hawaiians at the time of the arrival of Captain 
Cook in 1778. They were entirely destitute of metals, 
and the descriptions they bore to their chiefs of the strange 
human beings and ships that had suddenly made their ap- 
pearance, were as wild as they were ridiculous. In fact, 
so little did they know of the white man's face, that the 
English sailors were thought to be gods, and Captain 
Cook was accepted by the priests and people as their pow- 
erful god Lono, whose return to Hawaii had been prom- 
ised by tradition, and he was taken to their temples and 
made the object of adoration and sacrifice. 

Accepting the view of Judge Fornander that the Ha- 
waiians are from the tribes of ancient Israel, the sharpness 
with which they have brought down with them the He- 
brew accounts of the creation, the Deluge, and other 
events recorded in the Pentateuch, can not but be re- 
garded with wonder; and so correctly, apparently, have 
their early genealogies been preserved — especially from 
the creation of man to the Deluge, and from Noah to 
Abraham— that the thought presents itself that the dis- 
crepancies of the two versions are due to the omissions 
and additions of the Hebrews rather than of their Ha- 
waiian children. 



The Maine Greenback party held a convention re- 
cently. He said he felt rather feeble, but he hoped to 
hang on so as to gather himself together in 1884.^ 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



MOnXLIGH'I' ON THE BAY. 



AN UNPUBLISHED POEM BY "DION." 



As softly as celestial dreams 

Kail on a maiden's pillow, 
The tender moonlight's mellow beams 

Rest on the sleeping billow; 
Each gilded wave a crystal cave ( 

Their soft enchantment renders, 
And domes arise of changing dyes 

I-it up with starry splendors. 

I deem our hay is turned to-night 

Into a festal palace, 
And every shell ol pearly light 

Becomes a silver chalice, 
Where Tethys sips with foamy lips 

Ambrosial aqua vita.-, 
And Neptune turns from emerald urns 

A health to Amphitrite. 

Through lucent halls the sea-nymphs stream 

In trailing bugled dresses, 
And wreaths of pearl and coral gleam 

Above their sea-green tresses; 
Bright fountains play and diamond spray 

Weep o'er their waxen shoulders — 
Too fair, too fine, too near divine, 

For earthy-eyed beholders. 

Old Triton sounds his winding horn, 

And many a dark eye glances 
As Rhode, fairest ocean-born, 

Leads on the mazy dances; 
Sweet Doto curves and Thoe swerves 

To music's soft entreaties, 
And Doris whirls, and lightly twirls 

The silver-footed Thetis. 

Apart from all, in halls unseen, 

With spangled arches shining. 
The gentle Undine sleeps serene, 

On amber beds reclining, 
While singing maids comb out her braids 

In wavelets dark and shady, 
And scatter showers of golden flowers 

Upon the lovely lady. 

Ah, me! across the burnished bay 

Swift plies the Oakland steamer; 
The frolic dancers flee away, 

Gone is the lovely dreamer! 
So forms ideal must flee the real 

Wherever it advances, 
Till they find not a dwelling-spot 

Even in the poet's fancies. 



THE REPORTER'S REVENGE. 



BY SAM DAVIS. 



" I have murder on my soul ! " 

This appalling confession was made to me in a whisper 
across a table in a Kearny street beer-cellar, one night a 
year ago. 

I started back so violently as to almost upset my chair. 
Then I stared in a horrified way at the man who made 
this dreadful admission. I searched for traces of the 
criminal in the clean-cut features, the mild blue eye, the 
broad forehead, and could find none. He looked far 
more like a student or a prosperous young clergyman 
than a murderer. So I laughed and asked him why his 
humor had taken so ghastly a turn. 

" I'm not joking," he said earnestly, and I noticed that 
the hand which he reached toward his beer-glass trembled 
a little. 

" You have noticed how regularly I turn up on thi'. 
coast once a year, haven't you? " he asked. 
I nodded. 

" Well, that's because my crime haunts me, and when 
I am free to travel I cannot keep away from the scene of 
it. As editor of the Christian at Work in Chicago I have 
a good thing financially, and can afford to go where I 
please when my annual vacation comes ; but whatever my 
resolves may be, my journeying ends in bringing me 
here. No, it isn't to see my friends ; I have none left in 
this part of the world. Only a few of the old boys like 
yourself remember me? " 

Pausing to cast a furtive look around to see that we were 
not overheard, the editor of the Christian at Work leaned 
far over the table and asked in a low tone : 

" Do you remember Con Maloney? " 

" Of the Post? Yes, poor fellow, he's dead." 

" Do you know how he died?" 

" Yes ; he was killed by Indians in Arizona. Con was 
recklessly brave and took to hunting Apaches for pas- 
time." 

Leaning back in his chair, my companion took out his 
penknife and began filing his nails. Without looking up 
he said, quietly : 

" I murdered him." 

Then, regarding me steadily, he added : 

" As I mean to blow my brains out before morning, I 
don't mind telling you the particulars. It will lift a bur- 
den that I have carried now for nearly eight years alone. 
It is too heavy to be borne longer. I was reporting on the 
Chronicle, you remember, when Con was on the Post. 
We were warm friends, as you know, though that didn't 
prevent us from being active and unscrupulous rivals as 
reporters. Each of us was generally smarting under some 



triumph the other had won. I prided myself on being 
able not only to keep up with the procession, but on be- 
ing usually a little ahead of it. Do you recall the hang- 
ing of Jose Hernandez, the Mexican bandit, at Rakers- 
field? Well, Con and I were sent by our papers to re- 
port it. We reached the town early in the morning, and 
learned that the execution was to be at three in the after- 
noon. This would be too late for the Post, and I rejoiced 
over Con openly. It was expected that the bandit would 
play the coward on the scaffold. This would give me a 
fine opportunity for my descriptive powers. Con bore 
his chagrin better than I should have done. But I re- 
joiced so extravagantly over my good luck that he rose in 
wrath at last and left me. About two hours before the 
time set for the hanging I was in the office of the hotel 
bragging to the landlord and a group of the politicians 
and other local great men about the exclusive report of 
the execution next day's Chronicle would have, when a 
deputy rushed in and snouted : 

" ' Well, he's gone ! ' 

" ' Who's gone? ' everybody asked. 

" ' Why, Jose Hernandez.' 

"1 dashed to the jail to learn the particulars of the 
murderer's escape. W 7 hen the doors swung open for me 
and I entered the prison, a sight in the jailyard met my 
eyes that strangled the eager question in my throat. I 
saw Jose Hernandez hanging from the gallows, dead. 

" I must have fainted, or come very near it, for the next 
thing I remember was finding myself in a chair, dripping 
with water, and Con standing before me with a dipper in 
his hand. 

" ' Where am I ? ' I asked. 

" ' Away behind the procession, my boy,' grinned Con. 

"Then, with chucklings that maddened me, he related 
how he had outgeneraled me. He had had the assurance 
to go to the Sheriff and ask him to have the hanging at 
one instead of at three o'clock, to oblige the Post. 

" ' I can't do it without Jose's consent,' said the Sheriff, 
to whom a metropolitan reporter was a great man. ' You'd 
better see him.' 

"And Con did see him. He actually went into the 
wretch's cell and inquired if he wouldn't just as soon be 
hanged then as later. 

" ' All right,' Jose said — he was a contented fatalist, like 
most Mexicans — 'it don't make any difference to me. 
Give me a drink of whisky, get me a cigarette, and give 
me a good send-off in the papers, and make it as soon as 
you like.' 

" And by , sir ! " cried the editor of the Christian 

at Work, smiting the table in the excitement bred by the 
recollection, " while I was bragging there at the hotel Con 
had the hanging all to himself, exhausted the subject in 
the Post and left me nothing for the Chronicle. 

"I bore my defeat with a semblance of good humor 
that deceived even Con himself," he went on, scowling. 

" When he told me a week later tljat his salary had been 
raised in reward I shook his hand in hearty congratulation ; 
when my own was lowered I kept the secret. I received 
so gaily the chaff of the boys that it gave them.no pleasure 
to jeer at me. I smiled, but my heart was breaking. 

" You remember the Apache outbreak in '77, of course? 
I went to the front for the Chronicle, and Con, as usual, 
for the Post. We traveled together, roughed it together, 
fought with the troops against the Indians together, ate 
and slept together, and were thejbest of friends, as of old — 
so Con thought; so everybody thought. They dubbed us 
' The Newspaper Twins,-' we were so fond of each other 
and so much together. Do you recall the hanging of six 
Apache prisoners at Camp Thomas in August of that 
year? Well, the scaffold was set up inside a high stock- 
ade just to the north of the parade ground. I arrived at 
the Camp in the morning, and after presenting myself to 
Colonel Yancy, the commandant, I walked over alone to 
the stockade to see the machinery which was to rid the 
earth of the six red devils that afternoon. Con 1 had'nt 
seen for a month or more, we having attached ourselves 
to different scouting parties. As I entered the inclosure 
even my heart, hardened as it was by usage to dreadful 
scenes, felt a shock at the sight of the six nooses dangling 
in a row from the long beam. The sun was blazing down 
as it blazes nowhere else than in Arizona. A man stood 
on the platform with his back toward me, examining one 
of the ropes. No one else was in the stockade, which 
shut the gallows in from the sight of the Camp. I walked 
up the stair of unplaned pine to the scaffold. The man 
turned. It was Con. We shook hands cordially, and 
talked jokingly of the dangers we had run and the strokes 
of enterprise we had achieved for our papers since parting. 

" ' This,' said Con, half seating himself on the rude rail- 
ing surrounding the platform, ' is going to be a wholesale- 
sort of affair, isn't it? They swing 'em off at noon, don't 

they?' 

" ' Unless you can get them to oblige you by making it 
an hour or two earlier,' I said with a laugh. 

" Con laughed too, and asked if I would never forget 
that little victory of his at Hakersfield. 

"'.I'll have the first go at this item, too,' he went on 
merrily, kicking one of the nooses and setting it swinging. 
' My horse is better than yours, and I'll beat you to the 
telegraph station at the Corners. I'll do it for twenty to 
ten. 'lake it?' 

" No, I wouldn't take it. I knew his horse was better 
than mine, or any I could hire, or borrow or steal. Se- 



cretly I burned with impotent rage, but I looked him 
Smilingly in the eye. 

" ' The bucks will die came, of course,' said Con kick- 
ing the noose again. 'Good idea to set them all off at 
once, isn't it?' 

" I saw then that there was but one long trap, and that 
the supporting bolts were to be withdrawn by a pull at a 
lever, which was within a foot of where I leaned against 
the railing. 

Con kicked the swinging noose once more, and caught 
it in his hand as it returned. 

" ' Did you ever think how it must feel to be hanged?' 
he asked me, with a smile, as he worked the soaped rope 
through the hangman's knot. ' It seems to me that how- 
ever dreadful the preliminaries may look to others, nature 
kindly sends a paralysis upon the brain long before the 
black cap shuts out the sunshine forever. The most hid- 
eous moment of all must be just when the trap caves 
from under your feet and you shoot down to oblivion. 
There is an app-cciable interval of time between the be- 
ginning and end of that awful fall — and in that last in- 
stant of life how the mind must blaze and the heart pump ! 
It's the one thing that makes me shudder a little when 
I think, on a wakeful night sometimes, of the hangings I 
have seen. When I write my book — we're all going to 
write our book, my boy, eh? — I mean to work that busi- 
ness up with all the tragic power I've got in me. But no 
man can write with the vividness of truth about an ex- 
perience he only imagines. How does it feel, anyhow? 
Ugh!' 

" Con had put the rope around his neck and drawn it 
tight enough to make the blood redden his face. 
" ' Take it off, Con !' 

" I cried this out with a horror of tone that struck Con 
as ludicrous, for he smiled, and to further torment me he 
walked upon the trap, held his arms stiffly by his side, as 
if pinioned, and lifted his eyes as though in prayer — as 
men do who are on the edge of the black precipice. 

" I pulled the lever ! 

" God ! He could not have thought faster in that last 
brief plunge that he had spoken of than I did when he 
darted down to his death. Bakersfield, his faster horse, 
and the Devil moved my arm for that stroke of murder. 

" I shot down the rough stairs, out from the inclosure, 
and shrieked till the blood filled my mouth. I pointed 
dumbly to the stockade when the soldiers came running 
in alarm. 

He was as dead as my happiness when they hacked 
the rope in two with their sabers." 

The face of poor Con. Maloney's murderer had been 
flushed as he had progressed with his confession. Now it 
was as white as a dead man's, and horror shone in his 
eyes, as if they were looking again in reality upon the rude 
scaffold in the stockade. 

" Let us get out of this," he said, springing up and tug- 
ging his hat over his eyes. 

I insisted upon his going with me to my room. As his 
excitement died away he became weak, and yielded him- 
self to my stronger will. 

"I lied to Colonel Yancy, and he believed me. of 
course," he explained in answer to my pressing questions. 
" He and everybody else knew Con and me to be friends. 
How could he doubt that it was what I said, a horrible 
accident? Only the Camp carpenter was suspicious. He 
could not understand how his bolts had come from under 
the trap without a hand on the lever to help them. But 
he was a drunken private soldier, and nobody would in- 
sult me by listening to his talk. By agreement with the 
officers — to save the feelings of Con's relatives and 
friends — I telegraphed that he had fallen in a skirmish 
with the Apaches." 

A week ago I received a letter trom Ujiji, Central 
Africa. 

" A year since," it reads, " I confided to you the history 
of the sin which, by God's blessing, has been the means 
of bringing me out of darkness into the light. You were 
used as a humble instrument of Divine Providence to save 
me from the awful crime of self-murder. On my return 
to Chicago to my desk in the office of the Christian at 
Work, where I had wickedly written without Christian 
conviction m the language of the believer, a sense of my 
lost condition came upon me. 1 wrestled with the Lord 
and won the victory. A mighty zeal for souls filled me, 
and I sought this far field of labor, where many jewels are 
being added to my crown. There is but one drop of bit- 
terness in my cup. I fear that you may destroy my use- 
fulness by carelessly revealing your knowled ,e of the 
painful incident in my past life which occurred in Arizona. 
Let me urge you to remember that the safety of souls in 
this field, which is white unto the harvest and where 
laborers are few, depends upon your silence." 

After a rather long and v« ry fervid exhortation to me to 
seek the Lord, the letter closes: 

"The prayerful look upon the face of that young man 
just before he was ushered to the judgment seat is a 
great comfort and solace to me, and moves me to believe 
that he might never again have been so fit to die had he 
lived to follow the profession of journalism, so full as I 
know it to be of sinful influences." 

Captain Lees will shortly leave for Ujiji. 

Though the plumber may have the greatest antipathy 
to onions, he always likes to have plenty of leaks. 



T 2 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THK CARSON FOSSIL-FOOTPRINTS. 



I'.V MARK TWAIN. 



It may be all very well for Professor Marsh and Pro- 
fessor Harkness to talk their scientific talk about the 
Carson Footprints, and try to saddle them onto the Prime- 
val Man, the Irish Elk and others who are gone and 
cannot now defend themselves; it may be all very well, I 
say, and entertaining, and within the just limits of scien- 
tific slander and research, but it is not moral. For I 
know the cold facts about the Footprints, and I know 
they were not made by the Primeval Man, or the Irish 
Elk, or any of that sect : they were made by the first Ne- 
vada Territorial Legislature, and I was there when it was 
done. It was done at the time of the sine die adjourn- 
ment. It had rained rain all the evening outside, and it 
had rained whisky all the evening inside — inside the 
fence, I mean, for there were no buildings in that early 
day — and neither you nor a much older man could 
have told on which side of the fence the weather 
was the most inclement. I was on both sides of it, 
and sometimes on it, for a brief uncertain season, and 
I couldn't tell. The Footprint quarry, where that legis- 
lature sat — stood, while they could, I mean — was a 
dry alkali flat with a fence around it, when the rain 
began : just a dry alkali flat, containing a fence-full 
of dry honorable alkalied flats from all over the Terri- 
tory; and in three hours that first mentioned flat was 
absolutely soaked, to a depth of three inches; and the 
others all the way through. I make no exceptions; I say 
all. I was there, and I know. So the place was become just 
a regular marsh, full of irregular marshes, so to speak — 
meaning the legislature. Meaning the legislature, but 
intending no disrespect. And when the weather moder- 
ated so that one could venture outside — outside the 
fence — these latter adjourned. They adjourned, in the 
usual form— form used by territorial legislatures of that 
day — the Speaker bringing down his gavel on the head of 
the member mistaken by these scientists for the Irish 
Elk — which he, the Speaker, mistook for a fence-post — 
and thus, as you see, is the gloom and sorrow of a double 
error spread over this moldering historic incident— and 
said— common time, four beats to the measure, that is to 
say four hiccoughs to the sentence : " The modder hav- 
ing weatherated," and soon, in a similar strain, till he 
got through. I remember it as if it were but yesterday. 
Thus dissolved, they departed thence. 

It was then that they made the tracks. They couldn't 
help making them ; for the place was a marsh, as I was 
telling you. I saw it done ; for I was there. I was 
there, and I shall now cast upon this pale dim void 
of scientific conjecture the lurid glare of history. I 
was there, and I saw them march. The Primeval Man 
was absent ; the Irish Elk did not arrive ; the Cave Bear 
responded not to the summons; the Old Silurian Ass 
got left. The menagerie was wholly local. Part of 
it I saw, and the rest of it I was. This is history ; this 
is cold history; and history cannot lie. 

The Speaker went first. He made the large tracks — 
the ones that are eight inches broad and eighteen inches 
long, and resemble the footprint of a champagne basket. 
He was a prime man in two or three ways, and evil in 
forty; but he was not the Primeval Man, just the same : 
reflect upon this. I was there; I was there all the time; 
and I knew him well. He made the large tracks. And 
he did it without an effort. He could have done it with 
one hand tied behind him. He said so himself; he 
didn't tell me so, but he told others so, though I knew him 
well. His name was Welsh ; either Welsh or Sanders, I 
don't remember which ; but it was a name that sounded 
like those. He was a rancher; kept a ranch; cattle 
ranch ; and did not wear shoes, such not being his cus- 
tom, though a praying nian from his mother's knee. And 
always when he went forth ranching with all his might 
into the pasture amongst the cattle, there was much hay 
and straw lying scattered about, and with it much other 
material — material of a plastic nature ; mud, to wit ; acres 
of it ; and this material and the straw did of a truth and by 
custom combine and form unto him uncreated sandals, 
as you may say — uncreated, because not projected by 
volition nor wrought by art — nay they were but the 
cumulative achievement of time, that is to say time and 
patient neglect. And as the prosperous years rolled on, 
his sandals waxed, and gathered grace and style, and 
also magnitude and majesty ; insomuch that the footprint 
of him was like to the footprint of a hogshead which is 
up-ended in the snow. And he became a legislator, and 
also Speaker. Hut there was jealousy because of the 
splendor of his attainments in the field, there was rancor 
because of the sublimity of his sandals. And besides, 
there was not room ; for the alkali flat was circumscribed 
in area, and he unjustly occupied space proper and suffi- 
cient for the representation of several counties ; also, he 
trod upon the feet of distant members. Those near at 
hand could see the danger, and avoid it ; but those who 
were further removed, having no warning, his step being 
noiseless, like to that of the stealthy and cushioned cat, 
suffered. Vet his intentions were pure, he did these 
things inadvertently — usually while absorbed in thought 
concerning the national debt. 

So, charges were t brought against him, and he was in- 



dicted, tried, and condemned, as an obstructionist. The 
verdict was confirmed by the appellate courts in succes- 
sion, by Congress also, and finally by the United States 
Supreme Court, sitting in bank, or chambers, or some- 
where, and this latter condemned him to cut his sandals 
down to eight inches broad and eighteen inches long, 
with costs; and thus it was with these reduced powers, 
these diminished capacities, that he made the now world- 
renowned Footprints for the Primeval Man. Hut sup- 
pose he had had a chance to do some fossil tracks for the 
benefit of science before they trimmed his golden slip- 
pers? Which one of the late lamented would they have 
laid them on? Hut that is not vital to my theme — they'd 
have found a fossil to fit them, I judge. 

Such is history ; and thus is the Primeval Man vindi- 
cated, struck from the roster, and dismissed from further 
service in this conflict. I now proceed to dispose of the 
rest of those myths. If I were gone, and the treasury of 
history with me, they yet could not stand ; for even the 
scientific theory that gave them being would be also their 
destruction. Heeause it locates them back in the Old 
Red Sandstone Period. There were no Irish in the Old 
Red Sandstone Period. The Irish are a comparatively 
recent formation. They belong in the Old Blue Grind- 
Stone Tertiary, and are there confined to the stratified 
rocks of the post-pliocene alluvium and upper pentamer- 
ous limestone. The assertion of Hugh Miller and other 
early observers, that traces of them are discoverable in 
the Jurassic deposits of the Carboniferous Chalks, be- 
tween the median layer of old basaltic gneiss and the 
marsupial crinoids of the Paleozoic Conglomerate, was 
regarded with suspicion at the time, and is now know;i 
to have been wholly bituminous. Now then, we come 
to the point. If these footprints belong to the Old Red 
Sandstone Period, what becomes of your Irish Elk? 
What was he doing there, when there wern't any Irish 
yet? Answer me that. Crack me that nut, Messieurs 
Marsh and Harkness— and pray let us have no scientific 
folderol about it. Let us have a square deal just this 
once. The case is simple : I see your geological blunder, 
and go you a geological fact better — now you call me, if 
you can. Then we'll draw three apiece and double the 
pot. I think nobody can offer fairer than that. 

And so I have disposed of the Irish Elk — as I look at 
it. Now we come to the Cave Bear. What is his period? 
He belongs among the talcose hornblendes of the Post- 
Tertiary Devonian, along with the thecodont saurians, 
cryptogamous batrachians, and other gold-bearing rocks 
of the Azoic age ; and there isn't a trace of him to be 
found anywhere else for money. Then what is he doing 
out there among the Old Red Sandstone schist? Why, 
honored sirs, when he died out of the world for good and 
all, there wasn't enough Old Red Sandstone in it to 
make a whetstone out of. It hadn't begun to deposit, 
yet. And another thing : the Cave Bear couldn't have 
lived in Nevada, any way, for there isn't a cave in it, 
from one end of it to the other — except the compara- 
tively recent ones in the mines, and perhaps here and there 
in the mining stocks. Too recent to do him any good, 
or hardly anybody else. 

This disposes of the Cave Bear, as I look at it. Now 
the same arguments that dispose of the Irish Elk and the 
Cave Bear, dispose also of the Old Silurian Ass; for they 
trained together. They were of the same general breed 
of mammals, and were the only mollusks that were able 
to hold their own against the Megatherium, the Ichthyo- 
saurus, and other flesh-eating birds of the birdo-reptilian 
I>eriod, and did it then only through that vigilance which 
is the price of liberty, and that union in which is strength. 
All honor to the brave ! 

Now then — enough of that. Let conjecture stand 
aside, and history go to the bat. For I was there myself, 
and I know. The tracks which have been attributed to 
the Irish Elk were not made by an Irish Elk at all ; they 
were made by an Irish bricklayer — named Stephen 
McGinniss. Member of the legislature. I knew him per- 
fectly well. He had a hoof ; hoof like a cow's. It was a 
birth-mark. He was a high tempered man, and very handy 
with his birth-mark. And is even now at this minute 
after the scientists — and they will see. Even the elect 
may not call Stephen McGinniss an Irsh Elk with impu- 
nity, nor misinterpret his hoof-prints in a spirit of scien- 
tific wantonness. These are truths, these are facts; in a 
word, history. For I was there. 

Little remains to be said. Only this : The Cave Bear 
tracks were made by Mr. R. M. Daggett, now grown 
honorably famous in other walks in life, but still deposit- 
ing the same identical track to this day, let us freely 
believe, when he goeth unshod — as was the sternly simple 
custom of the pioneer legislator of the Territory of Ne- 
vada, in a day when virtuous endeavor was held above 
the comfort of the body, and godliness above meretri- 
cious gauds of fashion. 

The tracks attributed to the Old Silurian Ass, were not 
made by the Old Silurian Ass. I made them myself. I 
made them myself, and I am not an Old Silurian Ass. I 
may be some kind of an ass, and some observers have 
held the theory that I was and am ; but I am not an Old 
Salurian Ass. I made those tracks ; and I make the same 
track now ; and it appears that even an expert cannot 
tell it from an Old Silurian Ass's track, and neither can 
I, for that matter; but it is not an Old Silurian Ass's 



track, just the same, any more than I am an Old Silurian 
Ass; yet the person who calls the track out yonder an 
Old Silurian Ass's track, does in effect call mean Old 
Silurian Ass, by reason that I made that track. And it 
must not be repeated. For I have my feelings, as well as 
another; and the man that calls me an Old Silurian Ass, 
and proves it, shall not go out of this world alive. I have 
said it. The language may be intemperate, but the 
provocation is great. 

These scientists are in an ill-concealed sweat because ' 
they cannot tell why there are so many tracks, and all 
going one way, all going north. It was a large legisla- 
ture, dear sirs; and the saloon was north. This is his- 
tory, not conjecture. For I was there — in person. 

And they cannot divine why the Primeval Man took 
such short steps, yet with so little lateral spread. Think of 
the feet he carried ; also remember his condition : of 
course a person could not spread laterally, in his condi- 
tion, as deftly as he could formerly, when sober; neces- 
sarily he would spread laterally, formerly, but not latterly, 
the conditions being reversed, you see. This seems sim- 
ple. Also unanswerable. 

And they are perturbed because they cannot tell why 
the racks are so confused, and move in such subtly 
sinuous curves. Listen, then; I will explain this also. 
It is a law of nature that whisky cannot be conveyed in 
straight lines by a legislature, except in buckets. A leg- 
islature never uses buckets, man. 
I am done. 

Such is history. Such are the Carson Footprints. 
They are not fossiliferous, they are legislative; they are 
uniform, they are identical with the tracks deposited by 
all adjourning legislatures. In the West, I mean. Let 

us have peace. 

THE DANGERS OF AMBITION. 



Mr. Turn Suden, the talented political reporter of the 
Chronicle, got himself into a pretty scrape the other day, 
by one of those strokes of genius and enterprise which 
help to keep San Francisco journalists at the top of their 
profession. Learning that there was a great deal of wire- 
pulling around the Pilot Commissioners' office, Mr. Suden 
determined to get a glimpse of the machinery at work, 
and accordingly sought one of Boss Buckley's reputed 
henchmen. The servitor of the Bush-street statesman 
received Mr. Suden with all the urbanity due the repre- 
sentative of a metropolitan journal, and the two were 
soon on confidential terms — at least Mr. Suden thought 
so, and seizing a favorable turn in the conversation he 
whispered : 

"Say, what sort of a hand is Chris taking in this 
fight ? True business — nothing for publication, you 
know I" 

The henchman drew into his shell at once and peered 
out under the edge of it at Mr. Suden. " What fight 
d'ye mean ? " he asked cautiously. 

" Why, this fight for Pilot. Do you think $1500 would 
fetch the place, eh ? " 

"I don't know nothing about it. Who's got $1500 to 
put up?" 

" S'pose I had ?" 

" You ?" 

" Yes, me." 

"Oh, what kind of a game are you givin' me!" and 
with a shrug indicative of boundless incredulity and dis- 
gust, the servitor moved Buckleyward. 

Later in the day Mr. Suden met another trusty hench- 
man, and being still on the keen scent for news, con- 
fessed that he had $2,000 which he wanted to put up for 
a friendly candidate. Toward evening, after repeating 
the startling fiction with great earnestness to numerous 
other Buckleyites, Mr. Suden began to notice that he 
was the observed of Bush street. His movements were 
followed by curious eyes, and a crowd dogged his steps 
as if he were the tail-end of a minstrel parade. Just as 
he was becoming so uneasy that an exit through the 
plate-glass front of his establishment seemed advisable, 
a policeman slapped him on the shoulder rudely and 
asked : 

"Are you the newspaper man that said he'd got $1500 

to spend on something?" 
"I — I — yes; what of it?" 

" Nothing, only the Salvation Army is about as much 
as we can stand. There's gittin' to be too many cranks 
around. Kum alang?" and despite the enterprising 
journalist's expostulations, he was whisked off to the City 
Hall. 

It took all of Mr. de Young's influence to secure the 
liberation of his valued and enterprising reporter, and 
henceforth the Chronicle's political department will not 
be run on the high moral plane of a detective bureau. 

In playing a game of seven-up with a young lady from 
St Paul, a wicked Bismarcker told her that every time she 
held the jack of trumps it was a sure sign that her lover 
was thinking of her. Then the impertinent fiend watched 
her face at each deal, and every time she blushed and 
looked pleased led out and caught her jack. — Bismarck 
Tribune. 

Aimee tells a reporter that she wears out $360 worth of 
stockings every year. But as stockings comprise about 
her entire wardrobe the figures are not so very apalling. — 

Troy Times. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THE STAGE. 



Human nature is a great thing. Talent and 
genius may go begging on the stage unless they 
touch human nature on its weak spot. Emma 
Abbott's career is a study of careful manipula- 
tion of human nature. In the Eastern stales 
Miss Abbott was known familiarly to the public 
as "Honest Little Emma." Her naive sim- 
plicity and her good nature were noticed and 
advertised as special creations of Providence, 
possessed by nobody else on or off the stage. 
She was the star of an opera company, but 
nobody ever read in the newspapers of her voice 
or qualifications. She sang " The Last Rose of 
Summer " with such exquisite effect that whole 
crowds of Colorado people wept. It was not 
her voice; it was her naivete and her innocent 
ingenuousness. She impressed newspaper re- 
porters with a profound sense of her singularly 
agreeable temperament. Reporters are so much 
in the expectation of being kicked down stairs, 
that when a lady like Emma Abbott shakes 
hands with them, smiles upon them kindly, ab- 
solutely insists on their having a glass of beer, 
they melt into tears, and their trodden-down 
feelings rebound and burst into enthusiastic but 
ungrammatical eulogy. Miss Abbott had not 
the royal position of Patti; she was not the 
pet of foreign opera circles like Gerster; had 
no titled husband, nor had she contracted a 
Welsh alliance with a good-looking tenor who 
had passed into voiceless operatic second-child- 
hood; but she stood upon those qualities which 
are so rare upon the stage as to amount to genius — 
virtue and respectability. She selected and sus- 
tained an advertisement which she might almost 
patent, for very few have ever been able to ap- 
ply virtue to stage life with success; and a lady 
who can go through so much public notice and 
still be honored and respected, as Miss Abbott un- 
questionably is, should be protected in her rights 
by the United States government. The touch- 
ing stories of how Miss Abbott went to a great 
lady's reception in a calico dress; the pathetic 
recital of numerous little acts of kindhearted- 
ness which sensitive Christian newspaper men 
felt impelled to publish as news items; the won- 
derful way in which she touched the hearts of 
rough, rude mankind, are lavishly known to the 
public, and her agents have whole stacks of 
other adventures and incidents which they are 
keeping for Denver and other places. Miss 
Abbott came to San Francisco with a reputation 
for every agreeable quality except that of being 
a great artist. This policy of advertising had 
been brilliantly effective everywhere east of 
Omaha, and only the newspapers know how 
hard a fight was made to procure for her the 
suffrages of the public on her patented qualities 
of a personal nature. 

I am quite convinced that Miss Abbott is to 
be congratulated upon the failure of her man- 
ager's tactics. Had they succeeded, she would 
have been a bad failure. As it is, she is v a suc- 
cess, but not as the star of a poor company. 
When Miss Abbott appeared as Lucia, on the 
Monday night when the Baldwin was crowded 
with fashionable people, and local human nature 
was honestly happy in the idea that it was at a 
civilized Eastern point of style, she played her 
ingenuousness and her affected unaffectedness 
for all they were worth. Through all her efforts 
people listened for her voice. It was not very 
plentiful, but no question was left in the minds 
of the audience that the cultivation of what little 
there was commanded admiration, and her spirit, 
energy, and evidently natural adaptability for 
her work, won for her a creditable opinion. On 
Tuesday morning Miss Abbott had awakened to 
the fact that the human nature of San Francisco 
had a different weak spot from that of other 
cities she had visited, and on her second appear- 
ance she showed exactly what she could do. 
That is not wonderful vocal effort, but it is 
earnest, intelligent, energetic, and in some sense 
artistic, work. On that basis she has been 
accepted, and on that basis she need not fear 
being neglected by the public here. But the 
success of the Abbott engagement is due to the 
weakness of human nature for style. Human 
nature is little else but weakness. 

Emma Abbott would be a great prima donna, 
if she had the voice. Few singers have her in- 
tuitive appreciation of the value of music; few 
have her force and her fire. But it is like using 
a 1,000-horsc-powcr engine to drive a half-inch 
stream of water. There arc moments when she 
is brilliant, but they are brief. One can fancy 
that away in her brain, in her imagination, she 
is hearing a voice that is full of expression, full 
of power. It is perhaps like a man with his ears 
stuffed, whose voice rings through his head as it 
does not ring to the listener. Emma Abbott can 
not deceive her audience into believing they hear 
a voice, but she can aftcct them so that they fill 
in a voice to suit the force and technique which 
has little to work upon. When I listen to her, 
I always feel so desperately anxious to make all 
her effort effective that I wish I could supply the 
voice. But, although I utterly decline to accept 
Emma Abbott as we know her in the news- 
papers, I accept her willingly as a conscientious, 
well-trained prima donna, who does not annoy 
me by having so little voice, but who draws my 
warm sympathy that so much training should 
be materially lost to my enjoyment. 

In one thing the Abbott success is gratifying 



to theater-goers. No people in the world are so 
big-headed by success or so sore-headed by failure 
as operatic "artists." The management of this 
company have met the public fairly and squarely. 
Mr. Wetherill is Miss Abbott's husband. Their 
money is at risk in this large organization, and 
it is only natural that the leading place should 
be given to Miss Abbott. She has not taken it 
in San Francisco as they expected, but she has 
accepted the result. The company was on the 
second night put before us on its merits. It is 
now run as an ensemble company, claiming only 
what the public concede— playing for the success 
of the season, without regard to individuals. 
The usual star business has not been forced upon 
the public, although Miss Abbott is the best 
qualified to lead in the repertoire. The shrewd- 
ness of the management is indeed notable in an 
opera company, notoriously the kind of com- 
pany which never has any business manage- 
ment. Baldanza was here, and had made a cer- 
tain popularity. They had Fabrini and Castle 
as tenors. Castle has not had much voice for 
years, but he has a claim to be called an artist. 
Of Fabrini — and the judgment was good — they 
had some fears. Baldanza was certain to be 
acceptable, if he did not form a distinct factor in 
the opening success. They laid Signor Fabrini 
aside for a few nights, and the result was unques- 
tionably in their favor. One by one they have 
brought forward their new people, and every 
new opera seems to be strengthened. 

But as a primary fact, the performance is good 
value for the money, and nothing more. At a 
higher price it would not have been accepted. 
The ensemble is strong. There is not a great 
singer in the company. There are two who 
have the position of artists, Castle and Baldanza. 
Neither of them has much voice. Both of them 
are trained. Castle is distinctly an English 
opera singer. He is at home in ballads and 
pretty scenes where his grace and ease, his light 
and shade of sentiment, give to his expression a 
quality that is almost a voice. In emotion, in 
strong dramatic music, he is nowhere. But one 
hears the lover's strain in Zephoris like an 
echo of a far-off passion, and finds Castle in 
Wilhelm Meister a hero who would marry Mig- 
non from natural gravitation. Castle is a tenor 
for Balfe, Wallace and Adam, but hardly for 
Gounod, and by no possibility for Donizetti, 
Verdi or Bellini. 

Signor Baldanza has had a voice and a great 
deal of experience. Whether he has lost his 
voice in gaining experience, or has gained expe- 
rience in losing his voice, only he himself can de- 
cide. He has a thorough knowledge of his own 
strength and weakness. His experience has 
given him this inestimable power, that he can 
use what is left of voice with admirable discre- 
tion. He does not command sustained atten- 
tion, but he slides in a free and rapid Italian 
fashion over the music, takes a pianissimo rather 
than show his defects, and always does it effect- 
ively ; and when he feels that the audience are 
expecting something, he gives the fortissimo to 
one of his clear higher notes, and brings down 
the house. The quality of his voice has the 
Italian fire; it thrills the listener and forces 
"bravos;" and one is willing to put up with 
sudden and abrupt transitions from forte to 
piano for the sake of being thrilled at the finish. 
I fancy Signor Baldanza despises English and 
French opera. I imagine he rather feels that 
the only music worth singing is the Italian, and 
he has this argument in his favor, that there is 
no such excitement stirred by " Mignon," 
" Faust " or " Maritana" as that which is 
roused by " II Trovatore " and kindred works. 
But Baldanza is unquestionably an artist, and 
he shines frequently beside the others in the 
Abbott Opera Company. 

Signor Fabrini has a voice which has either 
been spoiled in training or has been neglected. 
I can fancy that he has used it all too carelessly, 
has sung without due regard to its possibilities 
on the operatic stage. It is of good quality, 
but in the parts he has so far played he has 
caught only the stronger effects in the music, 
and his modulation is bad. Me cannot shade; 
he forces it beyond control and it breaks; he 
sometimes carries through an air like "M'ap- 
pari " with fine effect, but he creates an expecta- 
tion of becoming either too loud or inexpressive 
all the time, and one feels almost afraid to en- 
core him after he has done well, in case he will 
fail in the repetition and ruin the' effect. In 
Elvino the other night he tore the music all to 
pieces in one or two places. 

Tagliapietra has suffered from carelessness. 
When he was here before he had as fine a voice 
as Del Puente, with a much stronger timbre, 
and was a more effective singer. He used to 
suffer from hoarseness, but it never lasted so 
long or so marred his singing as it has done this 
time. He has gained in ease, in acting quality, 
but he has not the ring and clearness of his old 
tones, and he has to nurse his voice more care- 
fully than he did. But his Rigolet to was a fine 
performance, and he will probably come up 
smiling again, as he used to do of old. 

Signor Campobello has the best voice of any 
of the males. It is a rich full voice. It is still 
hardly developed in dramatic quality, and it has 
a tendency to weaken its tone when it is 
called upon for rapid and forcible delivery. In 
Lotario it was well fitted, and in the Count de 
Luna he did some singing of the highest order. 
He is careless at times with it, and not infre- 



quently makes noticeable breaks not always ex- 
cusable. 

Miss Roscwald has been sick, and it may be 
from that cause that she had not shone very 
brilliantly. There always was in her voice a 
thin vail of cloud over its clear silver, and her 
singing was always characterized by spasmodic 
effort. Hut there are not many prime donne as 
reliable for work in opera as Miss Rosewald. 

Mrs. Seguin is beginning to show the wear of 
her contralto. Her energy and fire are still 
with her, and she is as deeply interested in her 
art as ever. If at times she does not show the 
smoothness and sweetness of old, she has still a 
rich quality of voice which tells in all her singing. 

This is — with a well drilled chorus and a good 
conductor, with an orchestra that is at least 
satisfactory — a very strong showing of operatic 
talent ; and at the regular prices of admission the 
representations of opera have been so good as to 
justify an enormous patronage. People know 
more about opera this week than they knew be- 
fore, even if the great song-birds of the world 
have not warbled for them. 



The dramatic field has been rather neglected 
lately, with the craze for opera. At the Califor- 
nia, Sheridan has been playing Shylock this 
week, with Othello thrown in for two or 
three performances. San Francisco has had 
many pets that the Eastern states have not ac- 
cepted. Two are here now, and with true Cali- 
fornian friendship we have stood by Jeffreys- 
Lewis, while we have not absolutely given the 
cold shoulder to Sheridan. Jeffreys-Lewis did 
star a season before she came back to us, and 
she took the precaution to bring with her when 
she came a lot of plays that were new, or nearly 
so. Sheridan has not brought us anything new, 
and he has further thrown a damper on his sea- 
son by making up a company from people who, 
not being great or good actors, have played 
themselves into our dislike. I concede to Wes- 
sclls a great deal of strong melodramatic talent. 
Iam willing to concede a future in the legitimate, 
if he will refrain from practising new readings 
of well-studied and brilliantly acted characters 
upon us. I submit that Mr. Aveling's voice 
could never have been heard on the Kialto, or 
about town in Venice, without ominous allusions 
to the Bridge of Sighs. I do not honestly be- 
lieve that Shakespeare's Bassanio spoke 
from his midriff, or that any such serious indi- 
vidual could have impressed himself upon the 
dainty and delightful Portia. The modern min- 
strel and variety stage was not the rage of ama- 
teurs in those days, and consequently Gratiano 
could not have learned the antics which make 
up the peculiarly ungraceful comedy of Mr. 
Wright's representation. The daintiness, the 
modesty, the pure love, the poetry and romantic 
daring of Portia, are all lacking in Miss Daven- 
port. 

Jessica was not a cold-blooded automatic 
machine, which rung out love and passion and 
poet*y like a phonograph. Lorenzo had a show 
of the quality of the Venetian youth who would 
fall in love with a Jewish girl and steal her if he 
could. Even Miss Waters showed the lack of 
legitimate training, and Clifton was stiff and 
formal as Antonio. 

Whatever of Shakespearean color was in the 
performances was entirely due to Sheridan, who, 
righting against a lot of modern surroundings, 
save for scenery and dresses, brought out a figure 
that spoke the actor of the kind who made the 
stage what it was before speculation took the 
place of intellect and taste, buffoonery crowded 
comedy off, caricature posed as high art, and 
scenes and lights and costumes and masqucraders 
made up the drama. Vet Sheridan was not 
wholly of the past. The modern reasoning had 
colored his study of Shylock; and while the 
Jew was raised from the low level he had been 
crushed to for three hundred years, there was 
much of the part that did not yield to modern 
light, and made the impersonation incongruous. 
I am not going to analyze his work. It is, from 
any point of view, a great piece of study. It is 
a fine conception, and Sheridan has succeeded 
fairly well in wedding to a striking dignity and 
a clear and well-balanced mind the 'traits of 
meanness, malignity and vindictivencss. It is 
a performance most worthy, and if it lacks detail 
and subtlety, it has some very strong and de- 
cided touches of the actor's genius. 



There is nothing worthy of notice at the other 
theaters. Leavitt is drifting into neglect and 
oblivion with the Bush Street, and he will find 
it absolutely necessary to send something good 
very soon if he does not wish the theater to fall 
out of the public interest. 



Charley Reed is the popular minstrel of to- 
day. He has a brain that never seems to tire of 
distorting things for the amusement of the pub- 
lic. " Mooneyville, or the Fate of a Seal," is a 
funny absurdity. 

Louis Nathal, who has been in San Francisco 
before, is here for Mapleson. He announces 
Gerster, and anywhere from a hundred to a thou- 
sand less important people, as to arrive to open 
a season at the Grand Opera House on the loth 
of March. Five dollars a seat in the orchestra 
and parquet, four dollars back of the fifth row, 
three dollars the back rows of the up-stairs 
dress circle, two dollars to the family circle, one 
dollar to the gallery I Will the San Francisco 



public stand all that? Some curious un 
lighting is going on in the Mapleson compai, 
and possibly the present movement is just io 
see if there will be sufficient encouragement. 
If Gerster would come out and sing with the 
Abbott troupe, there would be sense and money 
in the transaction. 

The Philharmonic Concert season closed with 
the concert of last night, too late for comment. 
In the four performances which the society has 
given a marked stride has been shown in the 
progress of musical taste, and Mr. Hinrichs 
has added a great deal to our stock of musical 
memories. The gentlemen who have stood 
financially at the back are to be congratulated 
on the season. Voi.ac.e. 



A REAL REFORMER. 



Captain Laffey is well known and greatly re- 
spected as a gentleman of the old school and a 
statesman of the modern academy of politics. 
The public are not, however, equally familiar 
with the fact that the gallant Captain is an ex- 
pert in nautical matters. It is a matter of 
record, of course, that he holds the honorable 
position of Pilot Commissioner, but as that is 
generally supposed to be a paltry reward of 
patriotic service, much technical importance is 
not attached to the appointment. The Captain 
resents the popular belief that any one who can 
yell "belay there! " in one language and drink 
whisky-straight in twenty-seven, can discharge 
the duties of pilot with credit to the common- 
wealth. There is now a vacancy in the list of 
pilots, caused by the death of Mr. Blood. Cap- 
tain Laffey has seized the opportunity to re- 
move, at once and forever, the stigma cast on 
the profession by the chief wit, who asserted 
that the qualifications for pilot were ability to 
weather Goat Island in a favorable breeze and 
to locate Mission rock on a clear day. The 
gallant Captain has prepared a list of questions 
to be answered by candidates. Following are a 
few, which show the severity of the examina- 
tion : 

" What is the difference between port and lar- 
board, or port and sherry, and which do you 
consider the safest to steer on if carrying a full 
head of steam? 

" What would you do if your head were extra 
size? 

" When half-seas over would you rely upon 
the pump, or would you hoist the blue Hag as a 
signal of distress? 

"What kind of a brace do you consider the 
most reliable, the main brace, the quarter brace 
or the five-cent brace? 

"When steering due north, with Frank's two 
points on your laboard bow and the wind low, 
do you go Mull and by,' or do you prefer credit? 

"Do you believe in the traditional naval 
method of raising the wind by whistling? 

"Do you think you could raise a check in the 
same way? 

"When close to the bar, what do you think 
would be the effect of 'jibbing,' if the barkeeper 
held a club? 

"How can you distinguish the Point Reyes 
light from Captain Foster's horse in foggy- 
weather? 

" Which do you regard as most seaworthy, the 
three masted or the five-cent schooner? 

" Would you rather box the compass than 
John L-. Sullivan, and why? 

''N.B. — Answers to these questions can be 
published in the sporting columns of the Chroni- 
cle ox sent to Patsy Hogan's symposium." 

From these questions it can be seen that Cap- 
tain Laffey is a real reformer. 



How He Became Famous. 



" Before I became famous as a humorist," said 
Mr. Stock, of the Call, to a group of reporters 
assembled in the City Prison the other night, 
"before I became famous, I say, as a humorist, 
I never labeled my jokes. The result was gen- 
eral lack of appreciation, etc. — small income." 

"And how did you rise so suddenly in the 
world of letters," asked an admiring co-scribbler. 

"I don't mind telling you," replied the dis- 
tinguished humorist. 

"One day I was riding down in the cars, and 
I noticed a stupid-looking man reading and re- 
reading a paragraph in the Call and looking as 
if it was a piece of bad news. As the grand 
jury's report was published that day, I thought 
there might have been an indictment returned 
against him, and being, as you know, fond of an 
occasional piece of detective work, glanced over 
his shoulder. What do you think he was read- 
ing? — one of Mr. Pickering's own affidavits 
about the circulation of the Call. All at once 
the stupid man gave a yell, as if something had 
hit him, and throwing l ack his head, he laughed 
like a madman. I thought the fellow was crazy, 
ami was beginning to look around for a police- 
man, when he quit his funny business and re- 
marked to the whole car: 

" Blessed if I saw through that item till I 
noticed 'twas marked affidavit ; then I said 'twas 
a joke— ha — ha — ha," and off he started again, 
till the conductor threatened to fire him out." 

"Ever since that," said Mr. Stock ingenu- 
ously, " I've recognized the value of a man label- 
ing his jokes, and I never consent to one of 
mine going out without a tag. Hence the envy 
with which Mark Twain and Ned Townsend re- 
gard me." 

Just then Mr. Stock was called away to re- 
port a surprise party, given to a Butchertown Sal, 
so further directions toward the right roadway 
to literary fame had to be suspended. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THE ORIGIN' OF THE TEA-PLANT. 

;Y Cliinese Fairy Story. 



TRANSLATED HV LI LY A. LITTLETON. 



When the Chinese Empire was yet young — not so very 
long after mortals were first created — a part of the kingdom, 
led by an ambitious courtier, revolted. As in all family 
wars, both sides fought gallantly and determinedly; and 
as neither would consent to be whipped, the struggle 
promised to be long and terrible. One day, when the 
Emperor was offering his usual worship before the family 
gods, a strange and b autiful goddess suddenly appeared 
before him, carrying a golden urn filled with earth. 

" Prince," she said, "this golden urn contains the mys- 
teries of your fortune. The plant which will spring from 
its depth is a gift from the Pearly Emperor, the Supreme 
Ruler. It has never grown on earth, but it will become 
a blessing to the conquering faction. Find some one 
within a week who will prophesy the shape, texture and 
blossom of the plant, and the hour of its springing into 
life, and the plant is yours forever." 

Placing the gift before the astounded Prince, the vision 
vanished as miraculously as it had appeared, and the 
potentate would have thought the whole scene but a wild 
fancy had it not been for the glittering urn at his feet. 
Hastening to end the ceremonies of his worship, he sought 
his Prime Minister, related the wonderful incident, and 
had a proclamation issued which ordered all his astrolo- 
gers to appear at court before noon of the next day. 

Early the next morning the astrologers began to come, 
and by midday everyone of note in the country had gath- 
ered in the palace. As they formed in a kneeling circle 
around him, the Emperor said : 

" This miraculous golden bucket, which is to make or 
mar the fortunes of our empire, is the cause of our proc- 
lamation. Upon the one who successfully divines the 
plant, its shape, texture, blossom, and the hour of its 
birth, I will bestow fortune and rank. Eook well, there- 
fore, and see that you make no mistake; for if you 
prophesy wrongly, you shall be cast into prison, and your 
professions and possessions — all that you have — be taken 
from you. Better for you not to predict at all, if you can 
not divine the truth." 

The astrologers bowed reverentially, and departed to 
worship the God of Astrology and plead for his mighty 
help. Then they returned to the palace prepared to ex- 
amine the Golden Urn. One by one they approached, 
glanced keenly and felt of the earth, muttering incanta- 
tions and prayers. But in vain ; not one of the host could 
foretell even the color of the plant which was to spring 
forth. The Emperor, who had all along reposed great 
faith in his court astrologers, giving them vast wealth in 
return for their predictions and advice, grew more and 
more indignant as they passed before him with protesta- 
tions of ignorance, and could scarcely realize the truth 
of the matter until all had done. 

" How is this," he cried, in a great rage, " that you have 
ever told me that you received your messages and advice 
straight from your idols and stars? Away with such igno- 
rant idols and unfaithful stars ! Unless you can truthfully 
predict the full knowledge of this mysterious Urn before 
the close of the week, you shall all be degraded." He 
then angrily dismissed them. . * 

When it became noised about that the mystery of the 
Golden Urn was still undisclosed, there was a great tumult 
throughout the kingdom, and many obscure persons came 
to try their luck at the divination. In vain ! Everyone 
was baffled by its silent appearance, and left the Empe- 
ror's palace in no very pleasant state of mind. 

Now there was a family in a near city, so lowly and so 
poor that the father with difficulty made any money at all. 
To add to the distress, each child that his wife brought him 
was a girl, until there were five. The mother, thinking 
that her girls would be better cared for if sold, mentioned 
it one day to their father. He shook his head. 

"No, no, mother! It is hard to get enough rice; 
many times must we go hungry, and always in poor rai- 
ment fight our battle of life. Let others drown their poor 
girls before they can lisp 'father' or 'mother,' or sel 
them as slaves; but I love my babes and cannot part with 
them." 

The mother never dared speak of it again, whatever 
she thought ; the matter was settled. And in this way 
were the father's love and duty repaid : W hen about ten 
years old, the eldest daughter, who had from merest in- 
fancy been preternaturally wise, began to be known 
among her neighbors and comrades as the girl who lived 
two lives — one her every-day life, with her eyes open ; the 
other with her eyes closed, when she could read fortunes. 
She told so many truths of things she had never known 
nor heard of before that presently mothers and even 
fathers of her little friends began to consult her, always 
paying a few cash for her trouble. Thereupon her father 
gave her the name of " Ugan Yoke," or " Silver Precious 
Stone," because her gain helped the family along so 
much better than ever before. Every time she brought 
him a fresh piece of money, he would cry : " There, 
wife ! where would this cash have gone if we had sold 
our girl? Who would have been enriched by her fortune- 
telling then? It was hard to lie on our benches at night, 
cold and scarce rested ; hard to break our fast with but a 



spoonful of rice ; but are not the labors of our girl bring- 
ing in far greater sums each week than I could bring in a 
year? " 

Very proud were they of their Silver Precious Stone, 
and considered themselves on the high-road to fortune, 
when one morning she cried to her parents : 

" The Emperor has a wonderful Golden Bucket which 
none of his astrologers can understand. He has promised 
fame and fortune to the one who will read it aright." 

" Yes, my child ; that is all true." 

" Then, father, take me that I may try. In the night I 
had a dream ; a beautiful woman came to me and told 
me I must go, and that she would assist me in the divina- 
tion." 

" That would never do. No woman can appear before 
our Emperor without incurring his displeasure. It would 
be ruin to .all of us." 

Silver Precious Stone thought over it a half-day; but 
at evening rice she said : 

" Father, I have determined to go. Something within 
me pushes me on, telling me I must not stay behind. 
And remember, it is sure wealth for all of us. You will 
have no more work, and I will be to you instead of a son, 
to build a family name." 

The father hesitated no longer. His daughter's confi- 
dence in her powers impressed him so strongly that he 
agreed to start with her on the morrow for Peking. On 
arriving within the walls of the imperial city they partook 
of a light repast, and lay down to refresh themselves after 
their weary journey. Shortly after sunrise they awoke 
and started for the palace, exciting not a little curiosity on 
the way, for their errand soon became gossiped about. 
Many loiterers accompanied them, till the ranks grew into 
the hundreds, some laughing, some pitying, none believ- 
ing — but all wondering at the audacity of a young girl 
who was about to present herself before the Emperor as 
his astrologer. 

W hen they reached the palace gates the porter at first 
refused Silver Precious Stone and her father admittance ; 
but to appease the multitude, he finally sent word to the 
court astrologers. The astrologers were dumbfounded, 
and all agreed that it would never do to allow an obscure 
person, and that person a young girl of fifteen, to be their 
rival; so they sent word that the Emperor wished no 
women about, and the sooner Silver Precious Stone left 
the city the less cause she would have to fear the out- 
pouring of His Imperial Majesty's wrath. Upon this 
news reaching the gates, the crowd set up a cry of disap- 
pointment. 

" What matter if it be a woman, if she can only tell us 
of the Golden Bucket? Does the Emperor forget that 
it is the sons of women who are fighting his battles? 
Does he forget that we are as much concerned in his for- 
tunes as he himself? " 

The murmurings grew louder and louder, till they 
echoed in the palace, and the Emperor demanded the 
cause. At first no one dared tell ; but presently, when 
they saw the Emperor's anger rising, one courtier replied : 

" A young woman has arrived who declares she can 
explain the meaning of the Golden Urn. Knowing this 
to be false, we have sent word to her to beware of your 
displeasure, as we were confident you would not w ish to 
spend your time in idle converse with her." 

"In idle converse with her!" thundered the Emperor. 
" Who dares to interpret my wishes on any subject, espe- 
cially in this critical time, when all depends on a true 
divination? Let the girl be conducted hither; and should 
she prove successful, woe be unto those who have opposed 
her r 

Silver Precious Stone and her father were just turning 
away in despair when the summons came to proceed to 
the palace. Joyfully they obeyed. The Emperor, w hose 
anger was not stilled yet, looked sternly upon her, but so 
certain was she of success that she scarcely heard his 
words : 

"Astrologers and courtiers, once more I bid you look at 
this Golden Gift and reveal its mystery. If you cannot, 
forever after hold your peace. Let no one of you pre- 
sume to cast a horoscope thereafter, but go to your homes 
and pursue such occupations as beseem your mean tal- 
ents." 

In obedience to this command each astrologer again 
passed before the Urn, and again regretfully shook his 
head over its contents. Silver Precious Stone then came 
forward, and bowing humbly before the Master, received 
his words, spoken in great kindness : 

" My girl, you have come on a dangerous mission. If 
you fail, it will be ruin to your father's household. But 
if you succeed, I cannot help seeing the power of the 
gods in your work, and shall keep such a precious legacy 
in my family by giving you to my son in marriage ; your 
father shall become my Prime Minister, and your sisters 
shall find husbands among the most powerful of my offi- 
cers." 

Silver Precious Stone arose from her kneeling ixisture, 
and going to the Golden L T rn dreamily closed her eyes for 
a moment as she passed her hands lightly over its spark- 
ling surface. Then opening her eyes upon her father 
with a look of reassurance, she said, while all listened so 
intently that not a sound could be heard but the tones of 
her voice : 

" Your Majesty, I read here of a great blessing upon 
our nation. Your armies will be victorious in battle, 



though the Prince your son will come home wounded. 
But fear not ; he will recover and live a Ion ; and prosper- 
ous life. The seed planted here will bear a shrub which 
may grow as high as your shoulder; its blossom will be as 
white as the driven snow, while its leaves, prepared by 
careful hands, will nourish and strengthen not only our 
people but the peoples of the world; and nations will so 
come from abroad to share in its supply that our country 
w ill become famed and enriched thereby." 

"The hour and date of its birth, my daughter?" de- 
manded the Em])eror, who had never for a moment 
doubted the truth of Silver Precious Stone's prophecies, 
but had drawn nearer and nearer while she was talking. 

The courtiers, at his term of endearment — " my daugh- 
ter" — eyed her w ith hatred and revenge ; but her father, 
who had stood trembling at one side, half fearing that 
his child should mistake, could control himself no longer, 
and wept aloud. Silver Precious Stone continued : 

"The hour of your army's victory will be the hour of 
the plant's birth, which will be one week to-day, at this 
hour." 

•Taking her by the hand the Emperor led her to her 

father. 

" Right well have you named this girl who has brought 
us safety and victory. Remain in the palace, and want 
for nothing." 

" But should my daughter's divination prove false — it 
has not been tested yet." 

" Then, as I said, there is nothing but ruin before you. 
I have faith that she is right; therefore enjoy the week of 
feasting to the utmost." 

It was truly a week of feasting and rejoicing. The 
whole nation soon knew that the Emperor had found a 
new astrologer in the shape of a young girl who had 
prophesied glorious things, and that she would be given 
to the Prince in marriage, should her prophesies prove 
true. 

The night before the eventful day Silver Precious Stone 
scarcely slept, but when she did it was to dream the most 
beautiful anVJ reassuring dreams. In the morning she 
felt strengthened and confident ; and when she modestly 
appeared in the Court applause greeted her at every 
step. 

Once more the Emperor appealed to his corps of as- 
trologers, but they all stood back and begged to be ex- 
cused, wishing and praying in their hearts that Silver 
Precious Stone would do the same. But not she. Going 
up to the Golden Urn, she lifted her right fore-finger, and 
first touching the earth, she gradually circled it above, 
saying : 

"Your army has fought valiantly and has won. You 
are conqueror. The seed bursts as your son is being car- 
ried into the city. The plant grows higher and higher, till 
I can hold the urn no longer." She then put the Golden 
Gift on the table before her, and continued. " Higher 
and higher with its fresh green leaves, till it sends forth a 
bud here and a shooting stalk there, and blossoms into a 
wilderness of white crowns as your son the Prince enters 
the palace." 

With these words she drew her finger first to the right, 
then to the left, and then followed a sudden bursting from 
the Golden Urn of a fresh green plant, whose white blos- 
soms loaded the air with sweet perfume. 

The Emperor ran to embrace Silver Precious Stone; 
the immense throng cheered ; the old father sank back 
weeping, helpless as a babe ; and in the midst of it all the 
Prince, with a shattered limb, was brought in on a litter, 
his loud-swelling trumpets sounding the joyful news of 
victory. The whole empire was wild with excitement, 
and gave itself up to rejoicing for a month, during which 
Silver Precious Stone was united in marriage to the Prince, 
and her family cared for as the Emperor had promised. 
Through her intercession the old astrologers and courtiers 
were pardoned, though to the last the stern Emperor 
would never see them again. 

As for the young and gifted Silver Precious Stone, she 
had the honor of being godmother and namesake to every 
girl born in the kingdom for a full twelvemonth ; and even 
at this late date, after the lapse of century upon century, 
the name of " Ugan Yoke " is borne by every fifth girl or 
woman in the empire. She lived with her husband to a 
ripe old age, founding a long line of beneficent kings. 

The Prince presented the Golden Urn upon the altar 
before his principal god, and planted the shrub in the 
Imperial Gardens, where it grew to immense size and 
spread over the terraces, till he had plenty to give to all 
who asked. And the kingdom soon so overran with it 
that the fragrance of its blossoms was bome by the winds 
to the uttermost quarters of the earth, and Silver Precious 
Stone's great prophecy came to pass : for this fragrance 
so bewitched the senses of man that he built whole fleets 
of ships and eagerly followed the magic trail, fairly bat- 
tering down the gates of China to get a glimpse of the 
wonderful gift from heaven; rivers of foreign gold poured 
into the kingdom in return for its fresh green leaves, and 
the mighty blessing became known far and near as the 
Tea-Plant. 



Two of Brigham Young's sons died drunkards, two of 
his daughters have the same husband, and one of his 
son's sons writes poetry. Mormonism must go. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



WHY THE GOLD GULCH NEWS SUSPENDED. 



BY ARTHUR M'EWEN. 



Gold Gulch, Nev., July 10, 1876. 
My Dear McNabb : I have bought out the Daily 
Neivs, as I contemplated when I saw you. The camp is 
rough, but lively, and I think I shall make money. I 
have written the editorials for the past week myself, being 
obliged to discharge the former editor, Colonel Hasbyn. 
I always thought it was an easy thing to write for a paper, 
but I find I have run out of ideas already. Besides, the 
business, which is all new to me, requires my attention. 
Please go to some of the newspaper offices and get me an 
editor — a sober one, if there are any. I'll pay a good 
salary. Yours in haste, Andrew Brown. 

Gold Gulch, Nev., July 22. 

My Dear McNabb : Major Hoister arrived a week ago 
and took editorial charge to-day. We have seen very 
little of each other. He explained, when I found him at 
his desk this morning, that he had been making the 
acquaintance of the leading citizens. In the course of 
half an hour he handed me an article. He wrote it with 
a speed that astonished me. It was really an excellent 
article, the language being elegant as well as forcible, and 
the points were made with great vigor. The only fault to 
be found with it was that it was strongly Democratic. I 
explained to him a fact which he had forgotten — that the 
News is a Republican organ. He seemed neither sur- 
prised nor annoyed — not even amused — by his funny 
blunder, but taking back the manuscript, went coolly to 
work, and in exactly four minutes handed it back to me 
again. What this extraordinary man had done was just to 
put in the word Republican for Democratic, and vice 
versa, throughout. The article is highly spoken of by the 
leaders of the party here, and they stop me on the street 
to congratulate me on my new editor. Evidently he is a 
genius. His strange manner confirms me in this belief. 
To-day when he had filled the editorial space — which he 
did with marvelous rapidity — he leaned back in his chair, 
with his hands clasped behind his head, and stared at 
vacancy. He murmured to himself repeatedly, but re- 
turned no answer to several remarks which I addressed to 
him. I could see that he did not hear me. Much of his 
unoccupied time to-day he spent spearing flies on his desk 
with his pen. There is a bold originality about the man 
that I cannot help admiring. How different he is from 
that odious old nuisance, Colonel Hasbyn, whom I was 
forced to discharge on account of his intemperate habits. 
He made the office a camping-ground for the whole tribe 
of Forty-niners, and spent his time in talk about the early 
days, and in going out for drinks with his friends. The 
Neivs, as you know, is one of the oldest papers in the 
state. It was founded by Colonel Hasbyn, but he drank 
himself out of the proprietorship years ago. Somehow he 
seemed to regard the purchase of the paper by a young 
man like me as an outrage upon himself, and frequently 
talked at me over the shoulders of his cronies in the most 
insulting and exasperating way. On several occasions, 
when he was drunker than usual, I was really afraid he 
would strike me with the crook cane which he always 
carries — not for anything in particular, but on general prin- 
ciples. I found out that the old humbug was in the habit 
of copying articles bodily from Eastern journals and 
palming them off on me as his own. The only faculty of 
his mind that has not been drowned out with whisky is his 
memory. That remains in astonishing vigor. Forty-nine 
is as clear to him as yesterday is to me. 

I write so much as this about the Colonel because he 
has become the chief annoyance of my life. Having 
learned that I am a Berkeley graduate, the old wretch 
has been going around the saloons of the Gulch roaring 
out the fact, as if the mere statement of it ought to last- 
ingly disgrace me in the eyes of everybody. He is the 
only man in the camp, so far as I know, who does not ad- 
mire Major Hoister's editorials in to-day's Neivs. He 
(the Colonel) is, as I write, reading one of them aloud to 
a crowd on the sidewalk in front of the office, and pre- 
tending to be vastly tickled over the faults which he pro- 
fesses to find in them. This reading aloud to a crowd of 
Gulchers is one of the fixed habits of the Colonel. He 
used to treat them to his own articles in the same way. 
Of late it has given him great satisfaction to pull from his 
pockets notices of himself, clipped from other Nevada 
newspapers, and roar them out to the idlers on the main 
street, who always gather to hear him. It is very exas- 
perating to see how the press speak of this absolutely 
empty-headed relic of other days. To read these panegyr- 
ics on Colonel Hasbyn one would suppose that the earth 
never before supported on its surface so much intellect, 
learning, wisdom and wit combined in one man. Incor- 
porated in these fulsome and ridiculous compliments are 
the most unwarrantable and brutal attacks upon me. I 
am referred to variously as the " unfeathered snipe," the 
"fresh young tenderfoot," and the "callow Johnny- 
come-lately" who has had the temerity to invest his money 
in a Nevada newspaper, and the criminal audacity to dis- 
charge the incomparable Colonel Hasbyn. 

Thank you and Heaven for Major Hoister ! He is a 
jewel. Yours gratefully, Andrew Brown. 

Gold Gulch, Nev., July 24. 

My Dear McNabb : As I write I am locked in my pri- 



vate office, refusing to see any visitors, though scores of the 
leaders of the party and other prominent Gulchers are de- 
manding an audience. After being nearly talked to death 
I rebelled and hid myself. Great excitement prevails 
throughout the Gulch, and even in this seclusion I can 
hear the voice of Colonel Hasbyn as he harangues the 
crowd. 

While I sat in the editorial room this morning going 
over some' proofs, my attention was attracted to Major 
Hoister. It was not that he was muttering to himself, for 
I had grown used to that strange peculiarity, but as he 
wrote he kept constantly plucking at his tongue, and then 
jerking his fingers towards the floor, as if casting some- 
thing down. I asked him if anything was the matter. I 
got only a w ild sort of stare in answer ; and he went on 
with his writing and plucking. Presently he rose and 
came toward me, grasping his tongue with his left thumb 
and forefinger, while in his right hand he held the large 
editorial shears. These he extended, handle toward me, 
and said, as well as his tightly held tongue would permit 
him : 

" Pleathe cut thith in two, will you?" 

I thought he was joking, though he had impressed me 
as being a solemn sort of man. When I laughed he gave 
a terrible scream, threw both arms up and fell backward 
into the big clothes-basket into which the exchanges are 
thrown. His face was purple, his eyes protruded, and he 
foamed at the mouth. I tore open his collar, yelled for 
the printers, sent for a doctor, and emptied the water 
pitcher over him. When the physician came he instantly 
opened a vein in the Major's arm — which flooded the floor 
of the editorial room for a yard square with blood — and 
ordered the insensible patient to be carried to bed at once. 
This was done, and I asked the doctor, in natural agita- 
tion, what was the matter with my editor. 

" Delirium tremens," he said, wiping his lancet on his 
sleeve as calmly as if it was an everyday occurrence that 
had happened. 

But this shocking business of the Major was a trifle 
compared with the awful disaster which has come from it. 
After the excitement into which the office was thrown, 
there was a call from the printers for copy. I was out, 
and the " devil " picked up the manuscript written by the 
delirious Major and slajjped it on the hook. I didn't 
see the paper until the whole edition had been run off and 
the carriers were out on their routes. What do you think, 
McNabb, that' monstrous lunatic had done? Nothing 
less than to write a vicious assault on the Miners' Union, 
and to call on the owners of the mines to reduce wages 
from $4 to $2 a day, and import Chinamen if a strike en- 
sued ! 

I do not know what the result will be on my business. 
It is as if a religious journal should come out with a denial 
of the divinity of the Savior and hail Bob Ingersoll as the 
true Messiah. 

I still hear the voice of Colonel Hasbyn haranguing the 
crowd. Yours distractedly, * Andrew Brown. 

[Telegram.] 

RENO, Nev., July 24 — Midnight. 
To Peter McNabb, San Francisco : Have just arrived 
here on horseback after a terrible ride of thirty miles. 
The mob, led by Colonel Hasbyn; wrecked the office. 
I am ruined, but thank God I am alive. Expect me to- 
morrow. Andrew Brown. 
[34— Collect.] 1 

Tlie Chicago Way. 

A joyously excited citizen slaps on the shoulder from 
behind another citizen, on Kearny street, and grasping his 
hand as he turns, cries out in ecstasy : 

" Well, I'm hanged ! Who'd a-thought to seeyoU here ! 
When did you leave Chicago?" 

The accosted one, at first as fervidly happy in the meet- 
ing as the other, suddenly cools and withdraws his hand. 

" Ah — uh — glad to see you, of course, but I'm told you 
put my name in your complaint against your wife when 
you divorced her for infidelity." 

The first shows surprise, next reflects deeply, and then 
bursts out ingenuously, seizing his fellow-Chicagoan's 
hand again : 

" By Jove ! so I did accuse you with the rest. It had 
slipped my memory entirely. However, that's all past. 
I am married again. Come to dinner and meet Mrs. 
Easy No. 2, won't you?" 

One of Thousands. 

" Miss Esmerelda Longcoffin is a most beautiful young 
lady. I wonder why she hasn't got married long ago? " 

" There is nothing strange about that. She don't know 
how to play on the piano." 

" Well, there are plenty of women who can't play on 
the piano. That she can't play on the piano is no draw- 
back." 

" Yes, but my dear sir, you don't quite understand me. 
Although she can't play on the piano, she is everlastingly 
trying to. That's what scares the young men off. It s 
worse than listening to a man sawing wood." — Texas 
Siftings. 

A Jersey City girl blushed and fainted the other day 
when she found the name of the paper she had used for a 
bustle was the Christian Obsener. 



HRAHMA. 



I am the mote in the sunbeam, and I am the burning sun. 
" Rest here," I whisper the atom; I call to the orb, 'Roll on." 
I am the blush of the morning, and I am the evening breeze; 
I am the leafs low murmur, the swell of the terrible seas; 
I am the net, the fowler the bird, and the frightened cry; 
The mirror, the form reflected, the sound and its echo, 1 ; 
The lover's passionate pleading, the maiden's whispered fear; 
The warrior, the blade that smites him, his mother's heart- Wrune 

tear; b 
I am intoxication, grapes, wine-press, and must and wine; 
I am the guest, the host, the tavern, the goblet of crystal line; 
1 am the breath of the flute, I am the wind of man; 
Gold's glitter, the light of the diamond, and the sea-pearl's luster 

wan ; 

The rose, her poet nightingale, the songs from his throat that 
rise ; 

Flint sparks; the taper, the moth that about it flies; 
I am both good and evil, the deed and the deed's intent ; 
Temptation, victim, sinner, crime, pardon, punishment; 
I am what was, is, will be; creation's ascent and fall; 
The link, the chain of existence; beginning and end of all ! 

— From Dschtllaleddin Rami, by Ritter. 



THE AMEBICAN 1 1 < )Cr. 



BY A. S. YOUNG. 



In spite of all the discussion in and outside of Congress 
in regard to the quality of American exports of provisions, 
it is plain enough that the real American hog is a biped, 
and an educated animal. It is not intended by this to 
prove that he is the educated hog exhibited throughout 
the country several years ago, which beat all the boys at 
the game of seven-up ; yet it is certain that in many in- 
stances he euchred the German and French people in 
their dealings in live stock and provisions. Our neighbors 
on the other side of the water may not have turned up 
jack in the game, but they turned up rotten meat, which 
is all the same. 

He that attempts to realize enormous profits by throw- 
ing diseased and putrid meats upon the market is a hog in 
trade, and deserves to be so branded by every honest 
dealer. Like the animal that rushes to the steaming swill, 
the American trafficking hog should be made to suffer for 
his unwarranted greed. When the German people first 
complained about the quality of our meat, our over-fed 
hog only gave a contemptuous grunt, thinking perhaps 
that his diseased meat would be forced upon the outside 
world at the point of the bayonet, as the English forced 
opium upon the Chinese ; but when it is seen that all the 
United States can do is to retaliate, which would only 
diminish the home demand for provisions, the grunt of 
the hog is turned into a squeal. 

It is said that in the packing-houses they utilize every 
thing about the hog except the squeal ; but, in the case of 
the hog which we are considering, the squeal seems to be 
the most useful part. The squealing of our dealers in 
provisions, on account of being shut out of the foreign 
markets, will be the surest means of calling the attention 
of the government to the cause of the trouble, and of en- 
abling it to strike the evil at its head. 

If our dealers send unsalable meat to foreign countries, 
we cannot but expect that the people will decline to re- 
ceive it. It is right and just that they should do so ; and 
the sooner the better for both buyer and seller. The 
sooner fair dealing is had, the sooner will honest dealers 
get their rights. It is right that those who have ruined the 
American provision trade should suffer for their rascality. 
But, as is almost always the case, the rain of righteous 
indignation falls upon the good as well as the evil, and 
punishment upon the just as well as the unjust. 

Worthless and adulterated goods are so common in 
every branch of trade that a genuine article is the excep- 
tion rather than the rule, and the honest dealer is looked 
upon w ith suspicion. Every branch of trade is so flooded 
with spurious merchandise that a genuine article seldom 
commands its just value, and for this reason the honest 
dealer cannot compete successfully with his dishonest 
neighbor. This foreign prohibition of American meats 
may seem like an ill wind ; but if it only blows the filth 
out of one branch of trade even, it will prove a boon to 
honest men. 

Our produce dealers are not the only ones who have 
suffered from fraudulent transactions in business. The 
tobacco men at the East were made to suffer by the same 
species of fraud. Sticks, stones, sand and trash tobacco 
were often concealed in the center of the hogshead, and a 
prime article packed on the surface ; and the whole lot 
was then sold as being of the same quality as the surface 
tobacco. The inspectors were as thick as investigating 
committees in Congress, but they failed to find any sticks 
or stones in the tobacco until foreign dealers refused to 
buy it, when the inspectors suddenly got their eyes open 
wide enough to see the false packing. A much needed 
reform came in course of time, but not until the foreign 
demand for Maryland tobacco entirely ceased and the 
price fell so low that it did not pay to raise it. 

It is proposed in Congress that an inspector for exports 
of meats be appointed, but there will have to be two 
supervisors to every inspector to see that he does his duty 
and is not bought by the dealers; and even then the best 
and most reliable inspectors will be those who eat the 
meat on the other side of the water. 



The French are a great and gifted people. They are 
cognizant of 365 different ways of cooking eggs, besides 
sucking them out back of the bam. 



1 6 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



A REGULAR HOODOO, 

Or "Why Rents are Low in Li XXI- 



It was in the store of Mr. Michael Cost, the 
Kearny-street cutler. There were three or four 
persons present who had nothing particular on 
their minds, and not being anxious to take in a 
heavy cargo of wisdom, they listened to the 
knife-grinder as he went on loading an old blun- 
derbuss. The weapon, it may be propel to re- 
mark, is an heirloom much cherished by Mr. 
Cost, as for many years it was a powerful agent 
in the reduction of rents in Limerick. 

" Yes, boys," said Mr. Cost, as he threw five 
or six fistfuls of powder at the antiquated piece 
of artillery, and rammed it home with a crow- 
bar, "yes, there's no use a-talkin'; some men 
are born lucky and some the other way — cussed 
unlucky, as you might say." 

The audience showed its concurrence in the 
aphorism by scattering away from the muzzle of 
the blunderbuss which Mr. Cost was swinging 
around in a careless sort of way, after cramming 
it with half a pound of nails, a couple of old 
forks and two or three rusty razors. 

" I guess that charge will do," said Mr. Cost, 
as he looked admiringly at his patriarchal gun 
and hauled a shirt-of-mail from one of his 
shelves. The shirt was wrought skillfully from 
triple rings of steel, and was, in shape, like an 
ordinary under-garnient. The spectators exam- 
ined it as carefully as the eccentric movements 
of the cutler's gun would permit, and asked 
unanimously, "Who's it for?" 

"That is to be demonstrated," replied Mr. 
Cost, groping along his shelves. " I can tell 
you who 'twas originally made tor, but hang me 
if I can tell who's going to wear it. It's a reg'lar 
hoodoo, it is. Hang the candle ! where is it? 

Having found the mislaid article, Mr. Cost 
took a bunch of matches and led the way to the 
cellar of his establishment, lugging his blunder- 
buss under one arm and the shirt-of-niail under 
the other. The armor he spread over a pine box, 
and having placed his candle so as to throw a 
dim light over the scene, began to pace toward 
the rear wall. As he measured off the floor he 
remarked : 

"If ever there was a regular hoodoo, 'lis that 
shirt. Take my word for it, Vs caused more 
trouble than any thing you ever heard of. 'Twas 
fresh made for an Oakland masher who'd got 
into a scrape, but before he could come in an' fit 
it on, a widow with four children got hold of 
him and married him. After that his worst 
enemy wouldn't have the heart to take a shot at 
him. 

" The next customer that liked it was a Sacra- 
mento lawyer. I don't know whether he wanted 
to keep off the mosquitoes or what, but before 
he paiil me the first deposit on it he was elected 
to the Legislature, and of course had to skip the 
state soon after. Then one of our Supervisors 
bid for it, and I offered it to him at half-price; 
but you know how 'tis with our Hoard — they're 
too honest to have any money to spend on lux- 
uries ; it's as much as they can do to buy whisky. 
I had a call from an editor, but his paper burst 
up the minute he looked at the shirt. I had 
some negotiations with a parson from the in- 
terior, but 'twas the old story over again. Be- 
fore he made up his mind to buy he found that 
the personal in the Chronicle that alarmed him 
was intended for some one else, and he didn't 
bite. Well, sir, I began to think that I'd have 
to give that durned shirt to some of my poor 
Republican friends to save them the price of 
washing, when in comes a Nevada Sheriff. He'd 
got tired of being chased around town half his 
life. He was in office a good many years, and 
between the alkali — I believe that is the other 
name for it — and between the rheumatiz and old 
age, his stock as a footracer was runnin' down. 
He was gettin' so that he would hardly back 
himself against a five shooter, much less a Web- 
ley whistler. Well, to make a long story short, 
the shirt suited him to a T, and he gave me a 
check for $250. The price of the shirt was $125. 
I gave him the balance, and next day went down 
to the bank — and of course the check was no 
good. You've guessed so much already, I s'pose — 
yes, but 'twas worse than that — 'twas a full- 
breasted, double-width case of forgery, and I'd 
have had a hard time gettin' out of it if I wasn't 
so well known and thought of." 

A chorus of ahems and coughs caused Mr. 
Cost to stop so suddenly that it was a miracle 
his blunderbuss kept together: 

*' You may cough," he continued, examining 
the the concussion cap on his landlord-exter- 
minator. " You may cough, but if you were in 
my place you wouldn't have done much barking. 
Well, I got out of the scrape, and was beginning 
to forget it, when I received a notification that 
my friejid the Sheriff had been shot in Idaho, 
where he went with my money. The old luck 
stuck to the shirt, and the very first time theowner 
was fired at the bullet struck him in the neck 
and fixed him. His last words were that the 
shirt was to be sent back to me to recompense 
me for the trouble he'd got me in. So here it is." 

"And what are you going to do with it?" 
nervously inquired the spectators, as Mr. Cost 
raised his terrible weapon and pointed it at the 
armor. 

" I'm goin' to test it for the man that started 
the F'eld boom; he wants ioiuething he can 



rely on. Here goes; whoo— o — ow — ow ! what 
hit me? " 

When the candle was relighted Mr. Cost was 
found lying on his back on the floor, with his 
ancestral gun holding him down, and evidently 
awaiting the decision of the referee. The fall 
was unanimously awarded to the blunderbuss, 
Mr. Cost offering no objection whatever, and 
expressing no desire for another round. His 
only anxiety was about 'he steel target; but no 
trace of it could be found. Box, shirt and all 
were gone — swept away through a hole in the 
cellar wall that looked like the excavation for 
Mr. flood's new building. 

Mr. Cost made only two remarks on the occur- 
rence. 

As he climbed painfully back to his shop he 
said : " It was a reg'lar hoodoo, wasn't it ? " 

At the top of the cellar stairway he added: 
" No wonder rents are low in Limerick." 



At a session of the New Jersey Legislature not 
many years since, the chaplain of the day con- 
cluded his extemporaneous invocation with the 
Lord's prayer, whereupon a member, leaning 
over toward a fellow-member and referring to 
the closing part of the clergyman's petition, 
said: "I'll beta dollar he stole that. I heard 
it all, word for word, at a funeral not more than 
a year ago. — Unknown Exchange. 



Count Latour Maubourg lost his leg at the 
battle of Leipsic. After he had suffered ampu- 
tation with the greatest courage he saw his 
servant crying, or pretending to cry, in the cor- 
ner of the room. "None of you hypocritical 
tears, you idle dog," said his master; "you 
know you are glad, for now you will have but 
one boot to clean instead of two." 



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I 



\ 




THE SAN FRANCISCAN 



FEBRUARY 23, 1884. 



VOL. I.— NO. 2. 




PRICE TEN CENTS. 



CONTENTS. 



ORIGINAL ARTICLES! 

As Idyl of the Industrial School [Illustrated by the Author.] 

Thomas E. Flynn 

The Crimse of the Casket [Illustrated by the Author.].. 

Thomas E. Flynn" 

Deacon Jobi. ink's Horry Arthur McEwen 

Murder Will Out William Lovel Eyre 

Shakespeare's Marriage Joseph T. Goodman 

Estomology vs. Knife-Swallowing [Illustrated.) 

The Text-Book Robbery William Dale 

Sunset on the Bay of San Francisco William A. Hamill 

What Troubleth Me Walter J. Thompson 

A Life's Regret Kathie Hillyer 

Mr. Twibbles's Baby 

A Boon to the Wicked 

Burns Andrew Simpson 

The Touch of a Mother's Hand R. E. White 

The Twaddler 

Editorial — A Crisis Reached; A Nerveless Party; Public Opinion; 

A Headless Party ; Miscellany 

Dramatic and Musical Review 

selected articles: 

A Defense of Aaron Burr Donn Piatt 

Wendell Phillips John Boyle O'Reilly 

Baros Tennyson d'Eyncourt Geo. William Curtis 

MUST This End All? Juliet C Marsh 

The Nertous Patient 



AN IDYL OF THE INDUSTRIAL SCHOOL. 



BY THOMAS E. FLYNN. 



One day of last week, when the whole City Hall was asleep from 
the ground to theglistening ball that blazons the top of the flagstaff 
on high, Mr. Strother awoke with a start and a sigh, and re- 
marked to his mates as they lifted their ears: "There is nothing 
the genuine statesman so fears as th" hours of inaction that 
make men forget their talent for running the public in debt. The 
distressing scarceness of questions of state have left us no visible 
chance to elate the loud voice of our wisdom, and greatly I doubt 
if the next month will give me a fair show to spout. With the 
rain-gauge still rising, no taxpayer cares what the stock market's 
doing in Spring Valley shares; and as Stoneman may sum- 
mon each Assembly ass, we've no show lo distinguish ourselves 
on pure gas. We must do something desp'rate or we're all lost 
to fame, as sure as Demosthenes Strother's my name." 

Then spoke Mr. Smith, with a glance full of pride at the sheen 
of his well-fitting gaiters, that vied with the high-polished tables 
of laurel and rose and the rich lambent glow on C. Burton's 
fine nose : 

"If water's too plenty, and gas can be made in the way you 
suggest, at such rates that the trade may as well go and weight 
themselves down with their meters and jump in the bay — Mervins, 
Jacks, Joes and Peters, why, let us go back to the good 
golden rule, and take up, as of old, the Industrial School. It's a 
subject that each of you knows very well. Let's try it once 
more, and give John Kenny " 

But here Mr. Pond chipped in and said, with a smile: "Why 
waste our lime talking abstractedly, while we can hire a convey- 
ance and ride out and see the best things about which we can all 
disagree? The weather has cleared, and no road can be finer, 
and the school ain't the worst place, you know, for a dinner. And 
besides having fresh air and pie to our fill, the city's the one that 
must foot up the bill." 

So a vote was straight taken, and the ayes and noes called, 
Mr. Strother objecting, when the President bawled, " No quest ions 
of privilege I'll entertain; but if Mr. John Sullivan rise to ex- 
plain, I'll hear him right through, peroration and all, for his wit 
is as keen and as bright as his awl." For this compliment — 
graceful, well-turned and neat, Mr. Sullivan said "Thank you," 
and flopped in his seat, the illustrious focus often pairs of eyes 
and the object of boundless applause and surprise, that a states- 
man so modest, retiring and young should possess such a mar- 
velous gut ot the tongue. Ten ayes were in favor of taking the 
ride, and the Chairman straightway remarked : " Now I decide 
that Mr. Smith's motion is carried. Let's go." Then each City 
Father slapped on his chapeau. Why dwell on the journey 
through suburban lanes, with their sunshine and mudholcs and 
loud-smelling drains! Arrived at the school-house, the Fathers 
soon found some six School Directors, all standing around, 
while others inspected wards, guard-rooms and store, with a 
freedom that caused Mr. Ranken to roar, "What the devil does 
this mean? What brings you all here?" To which Mr. Travers 



replied with a sneer, " Self-appointed reformers, we've taken your 
place, and intend to remodel this lasting disgrace." Space for- 
bids us to fairly and truthfully state how this insult stirred up 
all the contempt and hate that dwelt in the breasts of the twelve 
City Fathers; and without any further ifs, buts orrathers, they 
threw down the gauntlet and dared them right then to put to 
the front their very best men. Said John Lewis, glancing de- 
fiance across, "We can beat you from wrastlin' to straight 
pitch and toss; and I don't bar you, Cleveland, if you were 
twice as plucky, and came from Missouri instead of Ken- 
tucky. So, pull off your coat, if you think you're a man, 




and I'll go you a round at catch-as-catch-can ; and as sure as 
you're there, I'll flop you so quick that you'll think you was struck 
by a cartload of brick." These words were not wasted upon the 
brave leech, for he yanked off his ulster, emitting a screech of 
mingled delight and deliarce so loud that he nearly knocked out 
the whole City Hall crowd. As he jammed his plug-hat on the 
top of a rail, he remarked: "Mr. Lewis don't" know I'm a 
whale. In the daysot my youth, w hen my muscles I stripped, the 
scales at a ton and a quarter I tipped. And I keep growing 
heavier all the whole lime since I took to speech-making and 
planing out rhyme. For a poet, as well as a wrastler, I am." 
Here the Doctor swung round his fine fist like a ham, and dived 
in his coat tails, and extracting a screed, exclaimed, "These few- 
verses to you I will read." At this Mr. Shirley emitted a howl, 
and shouted "Stop! stop, sir! I'll surely call foul if you 
read any verses before you begin, for our champion must get 
just a fair show to win." Then the rivals took hold, and the 
durable ground shook with terror as both the bold champions 
tore round, till the small Mr. Brand grasped the Doctor's long 
skirt, as it passed by his nose with a most vicious flirt. At 
this Mr. Lewis grew savage, and lent all his wonderful skill to 
his terrible strength. He raised both Directors high up in the 
air; he gave them the fearful back twist of Kildare; and when 
we next looked neither victim was there. Alameda received the 
remains of the pair. While all this grand tourney went fright- 
fully on, Director John Griffin played marbles alone. 




It was more than his patience could brook to survey the case 
with which Lewis bore laurels away. And the tall school-house, 
standing like classic Maynooth, brought back the fond thoughts 
of his scholastic youth. Besides, he has oft been accustomed 



to boast that the playing of taws was an art he'd not lost. So 
he took the first chance for a brilliant display of the juvenile hab- 
its of distant Galway. 

The Directors stood still but a very short space beneath the 
dark cloud of their heavy disgrace. Soon into the ring stepped 
two champions more — the urbane Doc. Eaton and smooth Isa- 
dore; and they said, as they faced their elated compeers, "You 
have done very well, but we still have no fears that before we get 
through you will freely admit that, by our accomplishments, we 
are most fit to take charge of this school and correct its abuses, 
and apply its best talents to congenial uses. In our first tilt with 
you (less for business than sport) we were quickly non-suited and 
thrown out of court. We now file a rejoinder. You will have 
to show cause! " — Here both educators laid violent paws — on a 




stove that stood near, so full charged with caloric that it 
seemed a rash act, more insane than valoric, to touch its red sides 
with a forty-foot pole, much less grab it up boldly and pack it 
off whole. The contemptuous gibe and the scornful scoff died 
out as the two salamanders walked off with the unconscious air 
of a martyr of old stalking over hot plowshares, as if they were 
cold. The cheeks of the brave City Fathers grew warm when 
the boastful "defy" of "Match that if you can!" came 
ringing from President Hastings, whose pride in his pets was 
so great that he'd rather have died of anything short of enlarge- 
ment of gall, than sec any one of his height, or them all, betray 
the emotions which weak mortal have when tempted to handle a 
steaming red stove. Once more on the air rose the President's 
tones, commingling melodiously with the loud groans of his faith- 
ful octet, and this time he calls, in the voice that he keeps for 
Congressional halls. But deep as its resonance, 'twas a mere 
thrill compared with the chorus of wild yells that fill the souls of 
the rivals with terrible fear, as they see a tall youth with the 
speed of a deer 




and a grim-visaged man in pursuit, dashing past, as if each 
frantic jump toward the school was their last. One moment the 
petrified spectators gazed, then their knees smote with fear and 
their eyeballs grew glazed, and their teeth rattled loud as they 
whis|>ercd, "No use! Saltpeter can't save him, for Strother's 
broke loose!" Then, with selfish emotion they cried in one 
breath, " Let us fly for our lives, or he'll talk us to death! " 

So the contest is still undecided, though rumor has whispered 
that someday, when in the right humor, the good City Sires their 
perfection will prove by packing a furnace as well as a stove. 



1 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



SHAKESPEARE'S MARRIAGE. 



BY JOSEPH T. GOODMAN. 



Three hundred years ago a marriage took place whose 
consequences were of more importance to literature than 
any other event in the history of the world. The exacl 
date of the ceremony is not known. It is evident, how- 
ever, that it occurred near the first of December, as a 
bond for a sum equivalent to about a thousand dollars at 
present, signed by certain substantial residents of Strat- 
ford, was executed November a8, 15S2, of which the fol- 
lowing is a part : 

The condition of this obligation is such, that if hereafter there 
shall Dot appeal any lawful let or impediment, by reason of anv 
precontract, consanguinity, affinity, or by any other lawful means 
whatsoever, bul that William Shakespeare on the one part, anil 

Anne I lathaway of Stratford in the diocese i >l Worcester, maiden, 
may lawfully solemnize matrimony together, ami in the same 
afterwards remain and continue like man anil w ife, according to 
the laws in that behalf provided; and moreover, il there l>e not at 
this present time any action, suit, <piarrcl or demand, moved or 
depending before any judge ecclesiastical or temporal, for anil 
concerning any such lawful let or impediment; and moreover, if 
the said \\ illiam Shakespeare do not procee d to solemnization of 
marriage with the said Anne Hathaway without the consent of 
his friends; and also, if the said \\ illiam do, upon his own proper 
costs and expenses, defend and save harmless the Right Reverend 
Father in God, Lord lohn. Bishop of Worcester, and his officers, 
for licensing them, the said William and Anne, to he married 
together with once asking of the banns of matrimony bet ween 
them, and for all other causes which may ensue by reason 01 
occasion thereof, that then the said obligat ion to be void and of 
none eflcc.l, or else to stand and abide in lull force and virtue. 

This document, in my estimation, is the most ini|M>r- 
tant fact known concerning Shakespeare's life. ISonds 
were not a prerequisite to ordinary marriages; hence this 
must have been an extraordinary one. It is plain enough 
that the bond was given solely to indemnify the bishop 
against two contingencies: William was a minor — he 
was born April 23, 1504, and was not yet nineteen years 
old; and the marriage was to be celebrated after calling 
the banns but once, instead of the customary three limes. 
There is nothing remarkable in the fact that Shakespeare 
married before he came of age. It is common to do 
so now ; it was probably equally common to do so then. 
In that respect, therefore, the bond is without any special 
significance. Hut the circumstance of calling the banns 
but once excites suspicion. It implies haste; and what 
occasion could there be tor haste in that sleepy old town 
of Stratford three hundred years ago? Read this record 
from the register ol baptisms; it will tell you : 

1 5S3, May 26, Susanna, daughter to W illiam Shakespeare. 

Six months, lacking — we do not know how many days, 
for the exact date of the marriage is unknown to us! It 
may have been one of those phenomenal six-months 
offspring, but the chances are a million to one against 
it. Those w i re not days of physical debility and nervous 
excitement, or of the consequent miscarriages and pre- 
mature births. And, moreover, there is that suspicious 
calling of the banns but once. No, it is plain enough 
how it all happened. 

The Shakcspeares and Hathaways were intimate ac- 
quaintances. Old man Shakespeare had become a 
surety for old man Hathaway the very year William was 
born. The lad as he grew up had always played out 
around the Shottery cottage w ith the Hathaway children. 
This companionship anil the years went on together, 
until finally one day Miss Anne awoke to a shameful 
realization that he hail grown to be a bigger boy than she 
supposed. You probably noticed that the bishop did 
not ask to be indemnified against any contingency 
which might arise from her marrying without the consent 
of her friends. Good reason : she was of age — twenty- 
seven years old !— and under the circumstances there 
probably were no objections to be apprehended. W il- 
liam bad got himself into a scrape. The bold, strap- 
ping country wench almost old enough to be his 
mother— told him so, amid a world of tears and sighs. 
He was sorry for it ; but he did not propose to trammel 
up the consequences of their dalliance by marriage. It 
is likely that he resolved to light out from Stratford, 
and leave the kid and its mother to shift for themselves. 
Hut Mrs. Hathaway — who had always been apprehensive 
of mischief Irom that Will Shakespeare and the combus- 
tible Anne being so much together down among those' 
Avon thickets found out her daughter's fix, and went 
straightway and told Mrs. Shakespeare all about it. That 
settled the matter. The heart of the w hilom sweet Mary 
Arilen through whom came the only strain of gentle- 
ness ever infused into the whole Shakespeare tribe — was 
touched by the girl's unfortunate condition. She neither 
loved nor respected Anne— the dissimilarity of their 
natures precluded any such regard and she had dreaded 
this very mischance whic h had at last befallen; she had 
hoped bitter things of her favorite boy, and in her 
mother dreaming had pictured for him a nobler alliance 
and a brighter future ; but her sense of right overbore alike 
her aversion to Anne and her fondness for her son, and 
vv ith heroic fortitude she schooled him to his duty. There 
was a lively time for awhile between the heads of the two 
families; but it was finally agreed all round that the best 
thing to be done under the circumstances was for Wil- 
liam to marry the girl. He, the hazel-eyed, auburn- 
haired, trim-built, independent and impetuous young 
fellow, did not want to do it ; but the pressure upon him 
was too strong to be withstood, and at length he yielded 



to the wishes of his revered mother and consented. 
Hence the bond and the bridal— and, in a little undue 

sequence, the birth. 

I premised that this marriage by its consequences was 
the most important event to literature in the history of 
the world. The supposition is involved that it was the 
cause of Shakesjjeare adopting a literary career. I be- 
lieve such to have been the case. In order to make the 
proposition clear, it will be necessary to indulge in a 
brief retros|>ect. 

Hitherto obviously the young Shakespeare had de- 
veloped no remarkable aptitudes. I [e was but an ordin- 
ary child of ordinary parents. His father, a reputable 
groceryman, had slowly worked himself up to a condi- 
tion id" comfortable prosperity, had become one of the 
worthies of l he little burg of Stratford, and had risen 
successively in its dignities to the crowning position of 
chief alderman. But misfortunes bedded which com= 
pelled him to mortgage, and finally to disjiose of his 
property; till some years before his son's marriage his 
estate had fallen so low that he was exempted from t In- 
payment of poor-rates, was delinquent for his proportion 
of an assessment levied for the purchase of arms, and at 
last, it is to be conjectured, suffered the humiliation of 
imprisonment for debt. 

There were eight children in all, of whom William was 
the third. The eldest two died before they could have 
had any influence upon his character; another sister died 
in infancy, and the youngest brother was born when 
\\ illiam was sixteen years of age, which excludes him 
from any appreciable effect u|wn the poet's boyhood. 
Of the others, Gilbert was two and a-half years, Joan 
five years and Richard nine years younger than William. 

It may be as well to have done with the whole family 
right here, just to show what a very ordinary set they 
were. Gilbert, so far as we are aware, never made but 
one sign his signature to a conveyance in behalf of his 
brother William; Joan married a William Hart- through 
which branch alone the Shakespeare family surv ives until 
this day and died, the last of the original stock, in 1664 ; 
Richard died in 1613, without having made any sign at 
all; and Kdinund, the youngest, died in 1607, anil was 
buried as "a player," having presumably been taken 
under the wing of his famous brother. The father died 
in 1601, and the mother in 1007. 

It will be seen that W illiam was practically the eldest 
child; that be was just enough older to lord it over Gil- 
bert, to play the big brother to Joan, and to regard Rich- 
ard and Edmund as nuisances. With such a status in 
his own family, and that family one of the foremost of 
the middle rank in the village, he naturally felt himself 
to be — in his own expressive phraseology — one of the 
bully boys of Stratford. In his early years he went to 
the free school, for such an institution existed there; and 
we may imagine him -for the subsequent poet described 
only from his own surroundings and experience — 

The whining schoolboy, with his satchel 
And shining morning lace, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly lo school. 

What he acquired there does not matter, lien Jonson 
said over his remains that he hail little Latin and less 
Greek. Enough that he |x>sscssed a knowledge beyond 
the range of all tutorage. He may have been bright or 
dull ; but be that as it may, when his father's fortunes 
began to decline, it was deemed advisable to put William 
to some occupation that would insure him a future live- 
lihood; and so little capacity had he shown for any 
special vocation that he was apprenticed to a butcher. 
This fact may be challenged as questionable, but various 
traditions point to it so positively that it is to be regarded 
as reasonably incontestable. At what age he was appren- 
ticed is indeterminable; The term of apprenticeship was 
seven years; and as one authority says he ran away from 
his masters and lied to London, it is to be inferred that 
he was indentured at about fourteen, the term of his 
apprenticeship to extend to his majority. 

So we have W illiam at fourteen sweeping, OUt a butcher- 
shop, delivering small orders, and provoking customers 
on general principles; then a little later driving the 
butcher-cart in a saucy, jakeyish style, and carv ing up 
meat on the block to the astonishment and admiration 
of simpering wenches; and finally initiated to the full 
mysteries of slaughtering, in which, it is said, he never 
killed even a calf without doing it in high style and mak- 
ing a speech. 

His occupation was un poetic and unintellectual enough, 
yet he was evidently satisfied with it; his nature was 
almost subdued to that which he worked in, like the 
dyer's hand ; anil such he might hav e remained but for 
unforeseen anil irrelevant circumstances. 

His apprenticeship by no means made a drudge of 
him. The prentice was the gay boy of that period. He 
rendered his master just enough service to keep solid 
with him, and then he and his fellows made it lively for 
the staid community generally. So it is probable that 
William varied the routine of the slaughter-house and 
butcher-shop by wild bouts at the tavern, stormy scenes 
in the pit at occasional shows, sly forays on the game in 
neighboring parks, and rollicking times among the 
maidens of Stratford and its vicinage. 

He was a universal favorite — handsome, natty, glib- 
tomued. The girls outbid each other for his favor. He I 



felt the wide latitude of his choice, but was in no hurry 
to choose. He would sow his wild-oats and get a butcher- 
shop of his own before he finally settled down. And 
so he might have done but for that mischance at Shottery, 
which suddenly burdened him with the undesired and 
undesirable Anne Hathaway as a wife. 

It is a proud thing for a young gamecock of a boy to 
boast absolute dominion over the affections and person 
of a girl, even if she be somewhat gross and stale; but it 
cuts his comb terribly to be forced to marry her. Such 
was the crestfallen state of our hero. Will Shakes[>eare, 
the chief of the young roustabouts of Stratford, was hoist 
with his own petard. The joke was no longer on the 
great soft Shottery wench, but upon him. Anne Hatha- 
way, the unconsidered trifle of his thoughtless dalliance, 
had literally fumed the tables and sat down ii|>on him. 

He was a proud, vain, conceited fellow in those days, 
and the blow wounded him to the quick. His late com- 
panions in revelry winked slyly at one another, and 
greeted him with smiles of suppressed merriment. His 
elders hailed his accession to the wedded fold in the 
mocking or commiserating tone with which a conscript 
is welcomed to the ranks. If there had ever lingered a 
doubt in the mind of any one as to the motive of his 
marriage, that tell-tale birth dissipated it, and trumpeted 
the story of his disgrace unmistakably to the world. 

He chafed and smarted, but endured it all ; for what 
else could he do? Presumably he had brought Anne to 
his father's house; his apprentice wages would not war- 
rant him in setting up a separate establishment. His 
mother's sweet voice exercised a restraining influence 
over his impatient temper; his wife herself, in the first 
raptures of maternity, was at her best, and strove to en- 
dear herself to him by such softness as was in her nature ; 
and the high resolve he made when accepting the inevit- 
able, to conscientiously atone for his folly, had not yet 
faded out, so that he was still sustained by the exalted 
sense of doing a noble penance. 

Three-quarters of a year passed by, during which 
slaughtering and engendering went on in the little Strat- 
ford world the same as ever, and then conies another 
baptismal record : 

15S4, Feb. 2. I bonnet and Judith, son and daughter to Wil- 
liam Shakespeare. 

It is to be surmised that this later spell was not as joy- 
ous a ]>eriod in Shakespeare's life as those triumphant old 
ante-nuptial days. In the pride of youth he had been 
shamefully overcome in the matrimonial lists, and could 
never more couch a free lance in the sweet encounters of 
love. His feats at the meat-block failed to excite the 
admiration of the comely Stratford maidens as formerly, 
and he drove the butcher-cart with a less jaunty air, 
"because its coming was welcomed by eyes lit up with less 
favor and desire. Nor were these the only changes. His 
mother's influence had become less potent with him; the 
high |)ur|x>se of his first wedded days had gradually faded 
out, and his lot had grown irksome. And above all, 
Anne, who had been so soft and yielding in the olden 
time — who had endeavored to be so sweet and winning 
in the early stages of w edlock — had become embittered by 
childbirth and drudgery, and the unconcealed indiffer- 
ence of her stripling spouse, and began to exhibit the 
shrewish side of her character. 

What cankering incompatibilty or sudden explosion 
screwed his courage to the sticking point of quitting his 
wife and children, is a thing hopelessly lost along with so 
much other irrecoverable treasure of the past. I have no 
faith in the deer-stealing theory. 'That he stole deer I do 
not doubt. He was a poacher by nature. Most of the 
frame-work and much of the filling of his plays were 
poached from othcrf. 'The man who steals ideas would 
steal game if he had the chance — and Shakespeare had it. 
That his light-fingered proclivities involved him in trouble 
with Sir 'Thomas Lucy is equally probable. But that the 
difficulty was serious enough to make him abscond from 
his home is a gratuitous assumption that has gained credit 
chiefly because it appeared to explain an action which 
otherwise seemed inexplicable. Moreover, any trouble 
he may have incurred from deer-stealing is feir more 
likely to have occurred in those roisterous old butcher- 
boy days than after his marriage had so subdued him 
that he had not spirit enough to steal a sheep. 

'The simplest and most natural explanation of any oc- 
currence is nine times out of ten the true one. Thd 
domestic solution of the absconding problem is selfH 
ev ident and satisfactory ; the poaching one. assumptive 
and insufficient. Had Shakespeare been detected at 
deer-stealing, the matter would probably have been comH 
promised, or at most he would have been punished with! 
a round fine ; even had he left Stratford to escape the] 
immediate consequences of such an offense, the affair i 
all likelihood would have been speedily arranged, and h 
would have at once returned to his family. In neithe 
event would there have been any cause for pennanen 
and hostile estrangement from his wife. Yet there r 
reason to suppose that for ten years he never set foot t 
his native town, and it was twice ten years before 
again took up his abode there ; the fertile Anne, so pi 
maturely and superabundantly prolific in the first ye 
and a half of wedlock, thenceforth became totally sterile 
and Shakespeare, by almost his last act, gave expressio 
to l.L unconquerable aversion to her by cutting her 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



in his will with only his second-best bedstead. The 
deer-stealing theory fails to satisfy us in regard to these 
things. They can be fully accounted for only by the 
matrimonial mischance and resultant domestic infelici- 
ties which I have outlined. 

The date of Shakespeare's departure from Stratford is 
unknown. From 1584 to 1592 there is no authentic men- 
tion of him. If the tradition that he went to London 
before finishing his apprenticeship be accepted as true — 
and there is no reason for rejecting it — he must have gone 
soon after the birth of the twins. The exact month or 
year is of no importance, however, in respect to the theory 
advanced. The causes which induced his flight were 
of a nature to operate with increasing effectiveness 
throughout a longer or shorter period. The only essen- 
tial fact that concerns us is that his departure, whenever 
it may have occurred, was occasioned by chagrin at hav- 
ing in his conjugal experience been shamefully hand- 
cuffed at the start and mercilessly keel-hauled thereafter. 

Of the chances of fortune by which he gained a foot- 
hold in the Blackfriars Theater — of the slow stages by 
which he mounted from a mere adapter of plays to efforts 
at original authorship — of the processes by which he 
eventually developed his marvelous intellectuality — it is 
unnecessary to sjieak, so far as the object in view is con- 
cerned, further than to point to the fact that. they were 
all contingent upon his accidental alliance with Anne 
Hathaway. But for that event it is likely the name of 
William Shakespeare would never have been heard of, 
unless as that of an obscure butcher who once existed at 
Stratford-on-Avon. There has been much said about 
talent and genius working themselves out in someway, 
if they be in a man. It is all cant. The mute, inglorious 
Miltons are in a vast majority. For every enfranchised 
genius that has blazed before the world, a thousand sup- 
pressed ones have run their course in total obscurity. 
Men with faculties as capable of marshaling armies as 
Napoleon or Grant, have died without ever having seen 
a village muster or fired a shotgun ; and minds with the 
possibilities of even Shakespeare's audacious intellectual 
flights have groveled through existence, fettered by base 
occupations and vile necessities. 

It may be thought that I have dealt unwarrantably with 
the memory of Anne Hathaway. I would not intention- 
ally do injustice to anybody, living or dead. In every 
statement herein made I have been careful to proceed 
upon what I considered to be just grounds. The im- 
peachment of her virtue is fully sustained by the circum- 
stances surrounding the marriage and the undue birth of 
the first child. Her husband's early desertion of her, and 
his persistency in the abandonment, are strong presumptive 
evidences of her shrew ishness, which the unrelenting bit- 
terness exhibited in his w ill strengthens into almost positive 
proof. If any further testimony were required to establish 
the fact, it might be inferentially deduced from the cir- 
cumstance that of her two daughters — both presumably 
attractive enough — Susanna did not marry until she was 
twenty-four and Judith until she was thirty-one. How- 
account for this unless her shrewish temper frightened 
suitors away, until Shakespeare's fame and wealth ren- 
dered them objects sufficiently desirable to offset an 
infliction of acute mother-in-law? And, furthermore, 
why do we always hear of Shakespeare at the tavern, and 
never at the fireside, unless his good dame made the 
chimney-lug too hot for him to enjoy it? 

It may be claimed that the blame is more likely to have 
been his than his wife's. Possibly it may have been ; but 
we have proof, independent of the evidence of his own 
writings, that he was kind and amiable, while there is 
nothing to indicate that she was either. It haseven been 
attempted to explain away the reproachful second-best- 
bedstead clause of his will ; but it cannot be exorcised. 
It is an interlineation, evidently written after he had sub- 
mitted the will — which he wrote himself— to a lawyer, 
and was informed that his wife could break it unless he 
made some provision for her. Shakespeare's resentful 
hand recorded the stigmatizing words deliberately, and 
there they must remain till doomsday as the estimate 
placed by the man who " knew all qualities with a learned 
spirit of human dealings " upon the just deserts of Anne 
Hathaway. 



Oh, woman's a curious riddle; 

Dame Nature's most wonderful trick! 
At one thing for two hours together 

She can't Tor the life of her stick ! 
If ever ihis world held a puzzle, 

My sweetheart is surely that one. 
If she gives me a kiss in the morning, 

In the evening she'll snub mefor fun ! 

—Philadelphia Call. 



To test your musical talent : Whistle all the time ; hum 
a bar of every new opera incessantly ; drum on the table 
with your fingers and pat the floor with your foot. If 
your friends do not place you in a lunatic asylum after 
this, you will be warranted in buying a cornet, flute, 
violin, accordion, or hiring a piano. — Hartford Post. 



A tramp walked into Solari's saloon the other day and 
asked Bod Holtzman to credit him for a drink. 
As soon as Bob recovered his senses he asked : 
" Are you of French origin? " 
" No. Why do you ask ? " 
" Because you're all Gaul."— Tlu Hatchet. 



WENDELL PHILLIPS. 



BY JOHN BOYLE O'REII.LY. 



What shall we mourn ? For the prostrate tree that sheltered the 

young green wood ? 
For the fallen cliff that fronted the sea, and guarded the fields 

from the flood ? 

For the eagle that died in the tempest, afar from its eyrie's brood? 

Nay, not for these shall we weep; for the silver cord must be worn, 
And the golden fillet shrink back at last, and the dust to its earth 
return ; 

And tears are never for those who die with their face to the duty 
done ; 

But we mourn for the fledglings left on the waste, and the fields 
where the wild waves run. 

From the midst of the dock he delcndcd, the brave one has gone 
to his rest ; 

And the tears of the poor he befriended their wealth of affliction 
attest. 

From the midst of the people is stricken a symbol they daily saw, 
Set over against the law books, of a Higher than Human Law; 
For his life was a ceaseless protest, and nis voice was a prophet's 
cry 

To be true to the Truth and faithful, though the world were ar- 
rayed for the Lie. 

From the hearing of those who hated, a threatening voice has 
past ; 

Hut the lives of those who believe and die are not blown like a 

leaf on t he blast. 
A sower of infinite seed was he, a woodman that hewed to the 

„„ N ht .' • 

Who dared to be traitor to Union when the Uninn was traitor to 
Right ! 

" Fanatic!" the insects hissed, till he taught them to understand 
That the highest crime may be written in the highest law of the 
land; 

"Disturber" and "Dreamer" the Philistines cried, when he 

preached an ideal creed, 
Till they learned that the men who have changed the world with 

the world have disagreed; 
That the remnant is right, when the masses arc led like sheep to 

the pen, 

For the instinct of equity slumbers till roused by instinctive men. 

It is not enough to win rights from a King and write them down 
in a book ; 

New men, new lights; and the fathers' code the sons may never 
brook. 

What is liberty now were license then; their freedom our yoke 
would be; 

And each new decade must have new men to determine its liberty. 
Mankind is a marching army, with a broadening front Ihe while; 
Shall it crowd its bulk on the farm-paths, or clear to the outward 
file? 

Its pioneers are the dreamers who heed neither tongue nor pen 
Of the human spiders whose silk is wove from the lives of toiling 
men . 

Come, brothers, here to the burial ! But weep not, rather rejoice, 
For his fearless life and his fearless death; for his true unequaled 
voice, 

Like a silver trumpet sounding Ihe note of human right ; 

For his brave heart always ready to enter the weak one's fight ; 

For his soul unmoved by the mob's wild shout or the social 

sneer's disgrace; 
For his freeborn spirit that drew no line between class or creed 

or race. , 

Come, workers; here was a teacher, and the lesson he taught was 
good : 

There are no classes or races, but one human brotherhood; 
There are no creeds to be hated, no colors of skin debarred ; 
Mankind is one in its rights and wrongs — one right, -one hope, 
one guard. 

By his life he taught, by his death we learn, tfie great reformer's 
creed : 

The right to be free, and the hope to be just, and the guard 
against selfish greed. — Irish World. 



MR. TWIBB.LES'S BABY. 



My friend Twibbles is a small man, and like most small 
men, cultivates an erect carriage, a very large beard and 
an air of imjiortance. When he is not thinking about his 
appearance his face has a mild expression, but when his 
self-consciousness is on deck Twibbles wears a forbidding 
scowl — it is intended to impress the observer with the idea 
that Twibbles is thinking deeply of matters of graver im- 
port than engage the common run of men. Twibbles 
frequently manages to make op|>ortunities in conversation 
where it is appropriate for him to remark that Napoleon 
was a small man. He is a good soul, is kind to his wife, 
has no bad habits, does his work well as a book-keeper in 
a hardware store, spends his evenings at home, belongs to 
a literary club, reads a great deal and is proud of it. It 
gives him — as it gives many bigger men — a pleasant sense 
of intellectual dignity to say in an off-hand way, " That 
reminds me of something that Herbert Spencer says. I 
was dipping into his 'Social Statics' last night again, and " — 
etc. Twibbles often quotes Buckle, Lecky, Carlyle, 
Draper, and other authors of weight, in a delightfully 
familiar way, yet you can always see that he watches the 
effect upon you out of the corner of his eye. But he is 
absolutely without ideas of his own. When he wants to 
have opinions on any subject he hunts up an author who 
has written upon it, and lays in a stock. Twibbles is not 
a church man, though he attends the Episcopal service 
occasionally, as a social duty. He rides the bicycle on 
Sunday, usually. It is hardly necessary to say that Twib- 
bles lives in Oakland. 

I met him on the* Piedmont one morning several weeks 
ago. He was pacing the up|>er deck w ith his hands in 
his overcoat pockets, obviously taking exercise, as became 
a man whose intellectual pursuits compel him to lead a 
sedentary life. As I beheld him I saw that what I had 
thought to be impossible had been achieved, to-wit : that 
Tw ibbles had added to the straightness of his carriage and 
the depth of his frown. s He spoke in a heavier bass than 
ordinary when he returned my greeting, and he punctu- 



ated his conversation with short coughs.at each of which 
he threw out his chest like a bantam. 

It was all explained before we reached the slip. Mrs. 
'Tw ibbles had had a baby — a boy. 

I avoid Twibbles on the boat now. I have made the 
acquaintance of his son, and although he is a fine baby — 
as babies go — I am free to say that I am not nearly so 
much interested in him as Twibbles is, and as an exclu- 
sive subject of conversation he has not the same attrac- 
tion for me as he too-evidently has for his father. But 
although I keep ujion the plebeian lower deck to avoid 
Twibbles on the trip over, he cat* lies me as the streams 
from tin' uppcrand lower decks mingle in exit. Then there 
is nothing for it but to swallow his baby with tlu best 
appearance of appetite that lean muster. Although the 
child is not yet a month old, Tw ibbles gravely consults 
me as to the best method of educating him, and on the 
profession which holds out the greatest inducements to 
young men ambitious of wealth and distinction. 

'Twibbles is a dreadful bore, but I doubt if he is a 
greater fool than all other fathers -fathers of first boys. 
He is franker than most in the cxhihitionof his vanity, 
that is all. 

Urged by incessant invitation, I examined the 'Twibbles 
baby, and found it a type of its kind. As I gazed upon it 
I said to myself: " Why, in contemplating this infant, 
should the spirit of 'Twibbles be proud?" And I remem- 
bered that Sir John Lubbock, in his very interesting work 
on the "Origin of Civilization" — I think that's the 
book — relates that in Patagonia when a child is born it is 
not the mother who keeps her lied, but the father. There 
the Patagonian Twibbles reclines, well wrapped up and 
duly fed with gruel, and receives the congratulations of 
his friends. If Twibbles knows of it, I am certain that in 
his inner soul he believes in the entire propriety of the 
Patagonian c ustom. I noticed how modestly Mrs. 'Twib- 
bles bore her share of the honors, while her copartner in 
this infantile wonder swaggered and boasted and de- 
manded my admiration. 

As I walked home I pondered upon this subject of pa- 
ternal pride. All men — with an honorable exception that 
I could mention — believe that they are at bottom superior 
in ability to their race. Custom demands modesty. It 
isn't the fashion with us, as it was with the Romans, and is 
with the Indians, to brag of our talents and achievements. 
'The Romans were, and the Indians arc, natural in that 
particular, while as for our modesty, it is humbug. When 
one becomes the father of his first boy he regards his off- 
spring as his second self in embryo. " I was cut out for 
a grand career by nature," says 'Twibbles in his heart, 
" but the circumstances which have prevented me from 
becoming great and famous I shall take care to guard my 
son — my second self— against." It is as his second self 
that his son is interesting to 'Twibbles. 'The young 'Twib- 
bles is merely the old 'Twibbles, plus the chance to show 
the world what a magnificent man he is. Paternal affec- 
tion is therefore mere vanity. A father has no instinctive 
affection for his child for its own sake. The mother 
has a monopoly of that marvelous love, which makes her 
beautiful though she be as homely in face and body as a 
Scotch belle. He has none of that glorious, exultant 
sense of exclusive ownership that moves the mother to 
sighs and tears of happiness. A mother's love for the 
child begins with her knowledge that it is to be; a father's 
is a thing of growth. Nature does no more for 'Tw ibbles 
in the way of endow ing him w ith instinctive love for his 
young than it has done for the barnyard sultan. 'Twibbles 
has more reason and imagination than a rooster, but in 
their paternal feelings they stand primarily upon an equal- 
ity. What is there in a baby to inspire love in a man? 
What there is of it is animal— a helpless, unformed, slaver- 
ing beginning of somethinii better. Its brain is pulp, and 
it is idiotically oblivious of its own being and the world 
into which agony has brought it. It is even incapable of 
identifying and admiring its father. When the paternal 
heart feels itself warm toward the muling and puking 
lump of red and flabby flesh it is because the torch of 
imagination flares up and lights the future. In that gaudy 
world that is never to be, the father sees the baby stalking 
in power and majesty — sees himself, in fact, as he fancies 
he should have been but for perverse fate which has de- 
nied him his deserts. 

'Twibbles foiled my efforts to esca|>c him yesterday. 
Concern sat ujxin his countenance. With the seriousness 
of a stage statesman he imparted to me the information 
that the previous evening Mrs. Tw ibbles had, in warming 
the baby's feet at the stove, singed one of its toes. 'The 
forty minutes of the ferry trip were all consumed by my 
friend in relating the circumstances and physical and 
emotional results of this disaster. When we landed he 
drew me into the ticket office, asked permission to use 
the telephone, and sent an anxious inquiry to his home. 

" The toe is less troublesome," he said, with a great 
sigh of relief, as he turned from the instrument ; and when 
I left him on Kearny street he had not recovered from the 
elation which this news had imparted to his spirits. 



" Gentlemen of the jury," said a rising young attorney 
in Judge Toohy's Court the other day, " what is the evi- 
dence in the case? Does it not show that on the night of 
this foul crime the defendant walked up Pacific street 
and approached his unsuspecting victim, with malice in 
his heart, murder ir 



4 



THK SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THE TOUCH OF A MOTHER'S HAND. 



BY R. B. WHITE. 



" You may go now and sit by his bed. 
Step noiselessly in, and silent keep; 
Do not disturb him," the doctor said; 
" It may be death if you break his sleep." 

" I will keep most still — you can trust me to go; 
I can nurse him better than any one. 
Don't think me ungrateful — your kindness I know; 
God will reward you for what you have done! " 

She passed through the ward ; and jokes and mirth, 
And murmurs and cries of anguish, cease; 

And there came a calm, such as falls on earth 
When angels speed on a mission of peace. 

Many a dying one, as she passed, 

To bless her feebly lifted his head; 
And she came where a soldier lay, at last, 

And knelt down silently by his bed. 

He was only a boy, wounded and weak; 

And one could scarcely discern, in truth, 
Whether the ruddy hue on his cheek 

Was f^e fever-flush, or the Bush of youth. 

As she knelt by his bed, on the oaken floor, 
He spoke in his dreams to an absent one: 
" My darling, I will come back once more, 

And we will be wed when the war is done." 

Her hand on his forehead, unthinking, she laid, 

As his feverish face she gently fanned; 
And the dying soldier, awaking, said, 

" That feels like the touch of my mother's hand." 

Then around the ward his eyes wildly roam, 
Till they rest on a pale and wrinkled face — 
" Mother ! " " My child I " "I knew you would come ! " 
And she clasped her boy in a fond embrace. 

" And so the romance of love is o'er: 

When I am gone you must bid her not fret — 
Hid her to think of me no more; 

Mother, I will not askjw* to forget. 

" A moment since, I was dreaming of home: 
A child once more, I lay down to rest, 
And thought to my bedside you had come 
And blessed me, as you often blessed. 

" I wake, and I find my dream is true, 
And that over many a weary mile 
The old fond love has guided you 
To see your boy for a little while. 

" I did not think that life had in store 
For me such an exquisite joy as this — 
To feel the touch of your hand once more, 
To feel on my brow once more your kiss. 

" Then rest your hand on my fevered brow; 
Kiss me again — but you must not weep; 
Smile as of old — I am happy now. 
Good-bye for awhile! I will go to sleep." 

" Good-bye, good-bye! I am reconciled;" 

And she kissed his brow; "but 'tis hard to part ; 
And do not blame these tears, my child, 

They are welling up from a mother's heart." 

" Good-bye, good-bye ! I will soon awake 

Where again we will meet, in the better land." 
Then he slept; 'twas the sleep that naught could break — 
Not even the touch of a mother's hand. 



BURNS. 



BY ANDREW SIMPSON. 



Genius like that of Bums has but to speak, and the 
world's ear is caught. Some one has said that the differ- 
ence between genius and talent is that talent does what it 
can, while genius does what it must. Burns was a strik- 
ing proof of the truth of this definition of genius. Cer- 
tainly never so brilliant a plant had such hard, starved 
ground to grow in. Born and reared to manhood in the 
poverty of a Scotch peasant — a poverty that an American 
can hardly picture in imagination — he yet sang like a lark, 
and sang so sweetly and cheerily, and with such rollick- 
ing humor, that the world stopped to listen. The social 
surroundings of Burns were barren, rugged, monotonous 
and forbidding; but his genius glowed down upon the 
simple and hard and poor life of the Scotch country-folk, 
of whom he was one, and he has made the world see that 
life through the glamour which he cast upon it. Burns 
has enabled all the world to look upon Scotland through 
the eyes of genius. 

In analyzing the genius of Burns, I should say that he 
had as the foundation of his make-up good, strong, com- 
mon sense — a quality for which his countrymen are more 
famous than for the practice of the gentle art of verse- 
making. Added to this he had humor and wit — humor 
that raises a kindly laugh, and wit that sends ati arrow be- 
tween the ribs of the offender at whom it is aimed. He 
was a man whose power of observation was acute, and 
this enabled him to instantly appreciate the true relations 
of things — to know at once the genuine from the bogus. 
His eye went through the mail of hypocrisy like a bullet. 
Even the fair garment of godliness could not hide from 
his keen vision any uncleanness of the wearer beneath 
it. He hated shams, and took a grim delight in plucking 
off the dickey of pretence from the dirty shirt of reality, 
and then mocking with scornful laughter the shame and 



confusion of the humbug he had exposed. As a man, 
Burns was honest, open and warm-hearted. His fiber 
was stout and manly, and in all his poems — even the 
most tender love songs, or the most pathetic and mourn- 
ful of his serious work — you will not find a mawkish line. 

The secret of Burns's power, I think, was that he was 
a perfectly natural man, and his genius consisted in his 
gilt for expressing natural emotions and the courage to 
allow that gift of expression free rein. Of course he had 
the soul and imagination of a poet; but, after all, that is 
only saying that he felt vividly and clearly what other 
men feel vaguely, and it was given to him to be able to 
express what he felt. 

The earnest honesty and pluck of Burns compel admira- 
tion and respect. To my mind, it would be in order for 
most poets 10 dress in pantalets and amuse themselves 
with tancy work. Burns was robust and purely mascu- 
line. He had the courage to attack hypocrisy and mean- 
ness wherever he found it, from the royal family to the 
kirk ; and when Bum.s w rote, the hostility of the kirk was 
even more to be dreaded in Scotland than the royal 
wrath. The Scotch kirk received wounds from Burns's 
pen which rankle yet, and will continue to rankle while 
orthodoxy of the Knox type makes a pretense of living. 
He has armed common sense with weapons against 
priestly arrogance and pious self-righteousness which are 
as sharp to cut to-day as when he with them first drew 
the blood of the elect. In a time when it made one 
disreputable to hold such opinions, Burns upheld the 
natural rights of man, and scandalized the kirk and all 
respectable persons by insisting that the time would come 
when "man to man the world o'er shall brothers be," 
and cheerfully informed his outraged monarch that while 
he could make a duke or an earl, the manufacture 
of an honest man was " aboon his might." In the lines— 

The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
1 he man's the gowd lor a' that, • 

Bums voiced the doctrine of common sense and repub- 
licanism; that the individual real man is every thing, 
artificial distinctions nothing. Burns, common sense and 
republicanism preach this doctrine, but the world up to 
date hasn't accepted it. It is true, for all that, however; 
and Burns, now as when he wrote, is the poet of the 
poor — the poet of the people. 

In return for the coals of fire which Burns heaped 
upon the heads — not to say the bare backs — of the " unco 
guid," they have from his own time down to the present 
made much of his personal weaknesses. He wrote beau- 
tifully, tenderly, grandly, and the deep and honest pathos 
of much of his work has drawn the tears from the eyes of 
young and old for generations, and purified their hearts; 
but the Holy V\ illies are not to be placated by trifles like 
these. He sat among the scorners, and has caused the 
w icked for a century to laugh at and revile pious pretend- 
ers; so the " unco guid" point to his fondness for the 
bottle and the lassies, and groan their virtuous reprobation 
even unto this day. 

Well, Burns did like w hisky — there's no denying it. It 
is small wonder that he sought, w herever it could be 
found, any relief, however transient, from the dull round 
of the uncongenial life to which his poverty con- 
demned him. His love songs are as beautiful as 
any in the language, and their chief merit (as poetry, of 
course) lies in the fact that they were addressed to real 
women. He was not given to employing his imagination 
in creating some etherial goddess and then falling down 
and worshiping her ; but his eye falling upon some comely, 
kissable lass, he at once made love to her — not with his 
pen alone. No wonder his love-songs are warm and real. 
But, although it must be owned that Burns was the oppo- 
site of an anchorite, and that the passion of most of his 
verses on the theme of love glows with something more 
than poetic fire— what poet has sung in a purer or more 
exalted strain of woman than he? To w hat poet shall we 
look to match " Highland Mary?" 

Burns made the world better for living in it. He 
voiced natural emotions, and shook with his ridicule the 
kirk of John Knox, which sat upon the minds, hearts and 
spirits ot his countrymen, a dead, black weight. He 
revived the natural in literature, and for a time banished 
from poetry the pompous, the artificial and the finical. 
He championed the rights of man, and gave heart to 
honest poverty to hold up its head. He was a great 
genius and a good democrat. 



A Syracuse minister, fearing the smallpox, was inocu- 
lated from the arm of a friend who is a stock-broker. 
He has since taken to smoking cigars, puts his heels on 
the mantelpiece, and wears a very plaid ulster. An In- 
verness man, commenting on the above paragraph, re- 
marked, the other day : " Now, did ye ever in the whole- 
course of your life read such a perfect pack o' nonsense? 
The very idea of vaccination producing such results! 
The thing's absnrd, mon, on the face o' it ! Ye wad na 
get ony dockter in a' Scotland to believe it. Naw, sir; 
it's just anither o' yer dom'd American lees ! " — Neit< 
York Commercial Advertiser. 



An Indian named " Man-Afraid-of-Nothing " married 
a w hite woman in Montana recently, and in one week 
after the wedding applied to his tribe to have his name 
changed.— Deuel Advocate. 



WHAT TROUBLETH ME. 



BY WALTER J. THOMPSON. 



O thou moon, so big and bright — 
Outstretched palm of genial night — 
Look into my heart and see 
What it is that troubleth me. 

And ye stars, adored of seers — 
On night's lashes pendant tears — 
Look into my heart and see 
What it is that troubleth me. 

Mellow moon and softening stars, 
Peep between Ihose lattice-bars, 
See her midst that gayety — 
See and hear what trouLleth me! 



A BOON TO THE WICKED. 



Jack Whiffin, who used to be a broker and a patron of 
the livery stables and the Cliff House, is a broker no 
longer ; and he who was once the pride of his tailor's 
soul is passed daily on the streets without recognition by 
that tradesman. " Mr. Whiffin," said the tailor, stopping 
short the last time Jack nodded to him, " Mr. Whiffin, 
you owe me a large bill." 

" Don't mention it, returned Jack, politely." 

" I won't," assented the tailor, flicking a particle of 
dust from the breast of his own new coat, and looking 
w ith a scowl upon Jack's very shabby one, " I won't, on 
one condition, and that is that you will never bow to me 
on the street, or recognize me elsewhere. I can't afford 
to know you." 

Jack stood a long time on the sidewalk staring at the 
fashionable back of the receding tailor after this conver- 
sation. Then he heaved a sigh, and looked around for 
some one who would be likely to stand treat for the sake 
of old times. He has frequently done me the honor of 
permitting me this privilege. He did so one evening this 
week, and after making a feint of searching for a hand- 
kerchief, wiiicd his moustache with the back of his hand. 
Then he leaned against the bar with both elbows behind 
him, threw one leg across the other, cocked his head 
sideways, and looking at me shrewdly, said persuasively : 

" I've got a big thing, and as you're one of the few fel- 
lows that hasn't gone out of your way to give me a help- 
ing kick down hill, I'm going to let you in." 

"Capital required, of course?" I ventured. 

« Yes — oh yes," said Jack, w ith a careless, half-con- 
temptuous toss of his head. "But we needn't worry 
about that. As soon as you know what the scheme is, 
you'll be only too anxious to pour your coin into my 
hat for a half interest." 

" What is the scheme? " 

" Delible ink." 

" ///delible ink, you mean." 

" No, delible. Can't you see?" whispered Jack, be- 
coming excited. " Damnation, man, the prisons are full 
of men who'd never have got there if they'd done their 
forging with ink that would fade out of sight in a month; 
and history is crammed with the troubles that men have 
got into by their love-letters. Whiffin's Delible Ink re- 
moves forgery from the list of punishable crimes, and 
l>ermits the married man to indulge the weakness most 
dear to his heart — writing drool to other women than his 
wife. Grand, ain't it? " 

Jack stood off to view the effect of his disclosure, and 
to pose for my admiration. Then, to finish me, he drew 
from his breast ix>cket a pile of letters, slapped them on 
the bar before me, and said : 

" Read them. I've been making the delible ink m 
small quantities and placing sample bottles where, they 
would do the most good." 

1 quote the testimonials from memory : 

" Millionaires with a fancy for scribbling their names on loose 
sheets of paper, capable of being metamorphosed into marriage 
contracts, should never be without this ink. 

W— M SH— N. 

The only ink suitable for correspondence with grand juries. 

G— E W. TY— ER. 

F.xcellcnt for writing hints to the Lieutenant-Governor on 
the appointment of legislative committees. 

CL— NCE G— TH— SE. 

The very thing for ante-election pledges. 

J. G. C— RP— TER. 

Me, too. NV. P. H— MPH— ys. 

Bill Stow and Steve Gage shall write with no other ink here- 
after. CH — LES CR— KER. 

A bottle of this ink would have been worth the whole Texas 
Pacific land grant to me. C. P. H— T— TON. 

Would that my letter to the Solid Eight had been written 
with this ink! H-NK C— NKL— N. J 

It makes sentimental correspondence a safe amusement. 

W. H. L. li— nes. 

" Why, Whiffin ! " I cried, when I had read thus far 
" these must be forgeries." 

"Well, what of it?" asked Jack, placidly. "If 
were arrested for forging 'em they couldn't produce 'e 
against me in evidence. They're written with the Delible 
Beautiful, ain't it? " 

I left Jack rigid with amazement because I did not 
once offer him all my possessions for a half interest in hi* 
inestimable ink. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THE CRUISE OF THE CASKET. 



On Tuesday last, while the staff of The San Franciscan were 
feasting their eyes on the assortment of magnificent presents 
sent them by Mr. Crocker, the British Colony, and other enthu- 
siastic admirers, a light express wagon, containing a stout young 
man and half a dozen bulging sacks of potatoes, drove up to the 
office door. No particular attention was paid to the fact, as our 
artist, who is of Celtic extraction, is fond of boasting of the 
glories of his native land, and we thought that he might have 
ordered some of the refreshments of his infancy to stimulate his 
imagination. The significance of the arrival was speedily 
brought to his notice, however, by the entrance of the stout 
young man to the editorial rooms, bearing under his arm a large 
roll of manuscript. 

" I believe," said the stranger, addressing the staff, "you said 
you'd take contributions?" 

The Managing Editor bowed his acknowledgment of the dar- 
ing assertion. 

"Well, then, here's something about the Golden Gate Yacht 
Club that'll interest society down our way — the Tenth ward and 
the Mission," said the stranger, handing his manuscript to the 
editor and retiring. He paused at the door to add : "The Call 
wanted me to give it to 'em, but the Club don't want no more 
notices in that paper since it mixed 'em up with the Clementina 
Street Clippers. A paper that thinks a nigger minstrel must be 
a yachtsman because hs calls himself a clipper ain't fit to publish 
society news. And besides, the Golden Gate Club ain't on Tar 
Flat. There's a long ways between Jessie street and Clementina, 
eh? I can talk freely on this matter myself, for I live at the 
Mission. What do you think?" 

We agreed with the interesting stranger that the social dignity 
of his famous club had great cause to be offended; and having 
declined his courteous invitation to go out and shake him for the 
beer, bade him good-bye and opened his manuscript. By the aid 
of the office translator it was read as follows: 

GRAND AQUATIC SOCIAL EVENT. 

For some time past the most exclusive circles of society in the 
southern part of our beautiful city have been greatlv excited over 
the report that one of those highly enjoyable gatherings of the 
wit and fashion of Tehama street and the beauty and wealth of 
Jessie street, for which the picnics of the Golden 'Gate Yacht 
Club are famous, was shortly to transpire. Rumor proved cor- 
rect, for a few weeks ago the following invitation found its way 
to the homes of some two hundred favored ones, who are never 
forgotten by the Golden Gate Yacht Club when the pneumonia 
is prevalent or an election is on hand: 



: Ci.i'b House, : 

Rear of O'Coffin's Undertaking Parlors, j 
Fifth and Jessie Sts. 

The pleasure of your company and a two dollar : 

• and fifty cent assessment, is respectfully requested - 
; for a Sail next Sunday, on the yacht Casket. 

'. The anchor will be weighed at 10 o'clock. '. 

; Start from Long Bridge to Saucelito and return ; 

by water, if possible. : 

Henry O'Coffin, Commander. ; 

George Vests, First Officer. 

John Roderick, Second Officer. 

Wm. Loon, Crew. : 

! B. Y. B. H. '■ 



In obedience to this cheerful invitation a large number of ladies 
and gentlemen proceeded on Sunday morning to Long Bridge, 
equipped with boat-hooks — the talismanic letters in the lower 
left hand corner being a friendly suggestion not to neglect any 
business opportunities for the Commander that the voyage might 
offer. Punctually to the hour set the anchor was weighed by Bob 
Goble, who found it some twenty pounds in excess of the deposit 
placed in his hands by the Finance Committee. This occasioned 
some delay, during which a lively breeze sprang up and made the 
silver-plated handles that decorated the Casket's sides rattle 
gleefully, while the sable plumes at her peak danced as if in joy- 
ful recognition of the good time in store. At length everything 
was in readiness but the Commander, whose necktie had become 
ruffled in the discussion with Goble about the weight of the 
anchor. There was a general rush of the lady guests to correct 
the unseamanlike bowline. 




As many pairs of deft fingers as could manipulate the silken 
badge of authority were immediately entwined in its volumin- 
ous folds, making the gallant Commander think of something 
more agreeable than the dangers of the deep that were soon 
to confront him. When the Commander's necktie had been 
arranged so that the Casket could sail on an even keel, the 



embarkation of all hands was effected readily. There was con- 
siderable trouble with the embarkation of the feet when the Sev- 
enth Ward Contingent attempted to get aboard; but eventually 
even this difficulty was overcome, and the Casket, with her 
precious freight of bottled beer, ham sandwiches and milliners, 
sped before the freshening breeze. Unfortunately there was a 
breeze. This contingency had been somewhat dreaded, as the 
Casket, though eminently seaworthy when at anchor in Bob 
Goble's back yard, was apt to behave rather eccentrically when 
going with her sails full and her Crew not proportionately bal- 
lasted. The latter trouble was soon remedied, and the white 
wings of the beautiful yacht spread over the wrinkled surface of the 
deep like harbingers of peace. The most superficial observer of 
the gay throng of revelers could never have guessed, from an in- 
spection of the happy faces that beamed around Commander 
O'Coffin, that the uppermost thought in each palpitating heart 
was the solution of the grand politico-economical problem, how 
to deduct $2 50 from a $10 salary and leave $25 for board, lodg- 
ing and bootblacking. It would have taken a far less superficial 
observer to have guessed what was uppermost in each palpitating 
stomach ere the good yacht rounded the northwesterly horn of 
Goat Island 




And went plunging through the terrible sea that began jto rolPin 
through the Golden Gate till its crested billows flecked the 
rugged face of the rocks with foam and made things very lively 
for the smelt fishers. In this burst of the hurricane the gallant 
Commander was the only man who could take the helm— the Crew 
preferred whisky— and bravely he tried to stand at his post till 
the danger was over or past, or over-past; he was not particu- 
lar. When three points off Goat Island, and several off in 
various other things, however, the intrepid mariner began to feel 
the effects of the terrific mental and physical strain of his posi- 
tion. Added to this was the oppressive thought, presented in an 
unmistakable manner, that Goble had been using the Casket to 
stimulate the piscatorial industries of the state. Here it is proper 
to remark that the Golden Gate Club does not follow the bad 
example set by other aquatic organizations, and keep a vessel for 
its exclusive use. The Club prefers to have no proprietary inter- 
est in a schooner or smack, except of a different kind, but to 
lease the Casket whenever pneumonia is universally prevalent or 
dry goods and dressmaking high. When out of commission by 
the Club the Casket can be devoted to the rcpec'table purpose of 
carrying bricks from California City or transporting clams from 
San Bruno. On one occasion permission was given Goble to 
lease her to the tannery on Precita creek, but to apply her to 
the ignoble enterprise of herring or tomcod catching is not only 
contrary to the constitution and by-laws of the Club, but dan- 
gerous to the social supremacy of the whole forty-second pre- 
cinct of the Tenth ward. Though every blast of the gale wafted 
back conviction of treason so rank that it smclled even to the 
heavens, the gallant Commander kept his secret to himself. 
When his emotions threatened to overpower him he turned his 
head away from the company and pretended to be absorbed in 
the wonders of the deep. 

And in this way, hoping against the hope that he might save the 
soles of his shoes from the insatiate maw of the deep, he writhed 
on. The waves swept up till they almost touched his chin, but 
the contact had lost that terror which cold water should inspire 
in a true mariner. On he struggled, taking desperate chances of 
swallowing a couple of porpoises, which in that section of the 
bay are very frisky and scarcely three feet across the shoulders. 
But to a man in danger of himself being swallowed slowly and 
spasmodically, and by the gallon or pound, as it were, the pros- 
pect of accommodating a few yards, more or less, of tenderloin 
of sole had no terrors. Space forbids us from describing in de- 
tail the terrors of that fearful voyage. For fifteen minutes the 
fury of the whirlwind was unabated, and through all that eternity 
of suspense the Casket shook and writhed as if in the throes of a 
journey to Lone Mountain, via Boulder avenue, in a springless 
hearse. In the midst of the typhoon, when the waves were run- 
ning at least seven inches high and the Casket was sailing so fast 
that Goat Island seemed to the Crew to be one streak of gigantic 
beer barrels, the fearful danger was intensified by the center- 
board springing a leak. Scarcely had this appalling catastrophy 
been rectified when the anchor blew out of the bolt and ropes, 
carrying with it one of the fine nickel-plated handles on the side 
of the Casket, that had long made her the pride of the bay. The 
feelings of the company through all these trying adventures were 
simply indescribable. Just as the typhoon had changed into a 
monsoon, and that in turn given way to a sort of compound 
cathartic of tempest and whirlwind, a dark object that looked 
ominously like a human body swept past the surging yacht and 
disap|>carcd in the white track of foam, before the Commander 
could shake himself together and grasp his boat-hook. As for 
the company, they were too unnerved to make an effort to take 
anything in, so much had they suffered in getting rid of what 
freight they had. Every man and woman of them old enough to 
vote had been divorced so violently from the greater part of their 
worldly possessions that they had little hope of carrying five dol- 
lars between them to Saucelito. Neither, perhaps, had the Sau- 
celitans. Nevertheless, although they had all, literally speak- 
ing, thrown up the sponge, the failure of the Commander to 
use his boat-hook advantageously cast an added gloom to their 



thoughts, andjmore than one fair torturer of ribbons speculated 
sadly on the possible effects of the miscue on the coffee and 
doughnut market for the next month. But the storm always 
precedes the calm, when it does not come after it. And so, in the 
midst of the glories of the Casket's voyage, came a ray of hope. 
All at once the gallant vessel ceased to tremble, and her bellying 
sails, drooping as the heads of a set of pall-bearers, fell lower and 
lower, till they hung around the spars of the noble yacht like 
shrouds. So sudden was the change from the roar and turmoil 
of the storm to the deep peace of the incipient calm, that Com- 
mander O'Coffin instinctively took off his cap and was about to 
murmur some funereal remark, when a yell from the Crew ap- 
prised him of the truth. The Casket had stranded on a mud- 
bank, and there she stuck for two hours, during which no less 
than three corpses of drowned sailors and despairing legislators 
were seen floating by in the channel, but beyond reach of the 
company's boat-hooks. One in particular, which Commander 
O'Coffin recognized by the strawberry mark on his car, was good 
for at least a two hundred dollar funeral and eighty-five hacks. 
These incidents aggravated the sorrows of the party; and more 
were in store for them when they reached Saucelito and found 
that the Club caterer, in his terror during the gale, had thrown 
overboard the sacks of bread sandwiches, which he thought 
were the mittens of a well-known Jessie-street belle. To 
save the company from the pangs of hunger, Mr. Vests, 
the first officer, proposed to go fishing for smelts; 
but he'd scarcely thrown his hook in the water when 




one of those truculent monsters known"as|thc Wall-Eyed Tom 
cod seized it and a terrible hand-to-fin struggle ensued. At first 
the marine monster seemed to have the best of it, and dragged 
Mr. Vests down dangerously close to the edge of the sea. Being 
a remarkably powerful man, however — standing five feet in any- 
body's shoes but his own, and weighing seventy pounds exclusive 
of his mustache, which he happened to have on — Mr. Vests soon 
turned the pull on his wall-eyed opponent, and eventually landed 
him. The experience was too exciting, however, to be extensively 
copied, and the company, without any further at tempt to appease 
their hunger, rc-cmharked. Once more the tatcs were unpropi- 
tious. The voyagers had scarcely left the shores of Marin than 
adverse winds began to baffle them, and towards sunset they found 
themselves under the lee of Goat Island, where, by a sudden lurch 
the center-board was wrenched from the grasp of the Crew, who 
had been attending to the leak. In a moment the Crew dashed 
after the indispensable article of bay navigation, but forgetting 
to take off his shoes, was at once dragged down and would have 
been lost had not Mr. Roderick, the second officer, walked over- 
board and quietly grasped him by the hair as he rose for the last 
time. Having secured the Crew, Mr. Roderick waded back and 




captured the center-board, the loss of which had well nigh paralyzed 
the company. Meantime a strong breeze had sprung up, and al- 
though Sir. Roderick strove with all his might to overtake the Cas- 
ket, she gradually drew away from him, and as the evening came on 
she faded, hull down, towards the Rolling Mills. Finding that 
there was nothing else to do, Mr. Roderick walked across to the 
Pacific Mail dock, and up town, where he learned that the Cas- 
ket had finally landed her guests in safety and advanced starva- 
tion. Commander O'Coffin explained that owing to the loss of 
the center-board the yacht would not work in stays or corsets or 
any thing else, but, taking the bit in her teeth, had run clear 
away with him. This statement was considered as satisfactory 
by many, but there be those who believe that Commander O'Cof- 
fin purposely kept the Casket away, being piqued at the alacrity 
with which his second officer waded out after a live man after 
willfully allowing four corpses to escape expensive burials 
Although the voyage was full of adventure, it was not altogether 
unpleasant, and it will be repeated as soon as the spring breezes 
die out and the high tides make floating contributions to the 
undertaking trade more liberal. Meantime negotiations have 
been opened with Bob Gibson for his celebrated barge, the Mud 
Hen, to which it is intended to transfer the costly trappings and 
plumes of the dishonored Casket, in which the Golden G«t«,Yacht 
Club has resigned all interest, 



6 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



DEACON JOBLINK'S HOBBY. 



The Turlipy in Hi* Moral :mcl 'Theological 



BY ARTHUR m'kWF.N. 



One suninicr evening two years ago a passenger stepped 
off the Southern Pacific train as it drew up at the Fresno 
station. There was nothing more unusual in this circum- 
stance than there was remarkable in the appearance of 
the passenger. He looked simply like an ordinary, com- 
fortable old gentleman of fiftv-five or so. His dress was 
of respectable black. Portliness and a neatly rolled 
umbrella bespoke means, ease and a prudent mind. The 
natural expression of benevolence ui>on his clean-shaven, 
placid countenance was intensified bv a pair of gold- 
rimmed spectacles. 

After descending to the platform, this old gentleman 
stamped his feet twice or thrice to invite the blood to re- 
turn to his toes, and at the same time, with chin elevated, 
looked to the right and then to the left as if casually view- 
ing the country. Then he walked briskly to the hotel 
across the dusty road, and registered in a very plain hand 
as "Josiah Joblink, San Francisco." 

In the metropolis the visitor to Fresno was known as 
Deacon Joblink. The title was not bestowed derisively, 
as it is with too-frequent irreverence u\xm some jour- 
nalists eminent for ability but obscure as to piety. Mr. 
liiblink was really a deacon. 1 le was, and for many years 
had been, one of the stanchions that upheld the hurricane 
deck of the Ark of Zion, a church of the Methodist de- 
nomination, which, though not of the fashionable class, 
had yet a large and respectable communion. Deacon 
Joblink passed the plate on Sunday, and piloted strangers 
to scats in the ]>ews of members that did not scowl upon 
outsiders who yielded to a desire to hear the gospel 
preached. He was one of the Hoard which navigated the 
Ark through financial waters, and contributed of his 
means — not lavishly, but with reasonable reserve — to the 
keeping of the Ark in a seaworthy condition. Up to 
within three years of his visit to Fresno, Deacon Joblink 
had been a prosperous retail grocer. Having lived for 
half a century, and toiled forty years of it — the result be- 
ing a far from lean bank account — Deacon Joblink, who 
was not of an avaricious character, resolved to rest from 
his labors and spend the remainder of his days in contented 
ease. Both his daughters were well married, and his only 
son had met the warmest desire of his heart and become 
a preacher, and was already making a reputation for pul- 
pit eloquence in M il pitas. There was no reason why 
Deacon Joblink should longer sell sugar and tea and give 
his back cricks by bending over ledger and journal. Mrs. 
lohlink, as pious, placid and respectable a woman as her 
husband was a man, encouraged the Deacon in his desire 
to retire from active life. Tn due time the business was 
sold advantaceously to a worldly man, who, it was said, 
put fully a third more sand in the sugar than the Deacon 
had done. 

The retired grocer and his wife entered upon a career 
of pleasure, making frequent journeys to Saucelito, Yal- 
lejo, Oakland and the other villages surrounding San 
?'ranc isco bay, and once they ventured as far as the Yo- 
semite. But the Joblinks had the common experience. 
Satiety came. What at first gave excitement and diver- 
sion, presently became a bore. They traveled no more, 
and by degrees settled down in their modest home to the 
humdrum life of old. The Deacon grew restless. He 
was surprised to find himself regretting that he had sold 
his store. Mrs. Joblink, too, became less pleasant in her 
manner toward him. She frequently advised him to take 
a walk, saying it wasn't good for a man to be so much 
about the house. A day became as long to him as a week 
had been when he was among his barrels and boxes. The 
prayer meetings and the Sunday services in the Ark were 
his only excitements. He was debarred from such sinful 
pleasures as the playhouse and club afford, and in self- 
defense took to reading. Here again the Deacon was 
hani|>cred, for he had conscientious scruples regarding the 
perusal of novels. Works of science had for him only a 
theological bearing, and that bearing he deplored and 
condemned. He could not interest himself in history; and, 
pious as he was, the Deacon was forced to own that books 
of sermons and religious controversy wearied him. In a 
happy hour Deacon Joblink opened " Rogers on Turkey 
Culture." Odd as it may seem, he became thoroughly 
absorbed in it. This was all the more singular as his only 
acquaintance with the fowl was in the lifeless and feather- 
less state in which it had, in the holiday seasons, dangled 
before the door of his store. When he had exhausted 
Rogers he began upon " Williams on the Origin and 
Evolution of Domestic Fowls." 

The Deacon had found a hobby. He renewed his 
youth in the study of poultry. The scope of his inquiries 
widened. He read with interest of all fowls, and haunted 
the bookstores and libraries in search of information con- 
cerning them ; but he remained true to his first love — the 
turkey. Other domestic birds might perch upon his 
hobby-horse and welcome, but the turkey was given the 
seat of honor in the saddle. 

The Deacon and Mrs. Joblink sat one evening in their 
home, the lady quietly rocking and plying her needle con- 
tentedly, while her husband, with his elbows on the table 



and his head clasped between »his hands, jiored intently 
over a book. Suddenly the Deacon, with a- vigor that 
was very unusual, brought his fist down and cried : 

" Maria, I have made up my mind !" 

"To what, Josiah?" 

" To start a turkey ranch !" 

It was this resolve that accounted for the arrival of 
Deacon Joblink in Fresno. 

Choosing a new home and a new occupation, when one 
is on the side of fifty where the shadows lie, must ordina- 
rily be a sad venture; but the Deacon had a full purse, a 
naturally cheerful disposition, and was possessed of the 
enthusiasm known only to the man who rides a hobby. 
The seductive gobble of the turkey of his imagination 
lured the Deacon on. 

There was land to be had in plenty, and the owners of 
it were not unreasonable in what they asked for it. Con- 
siderations other than financial, however, governed Dea- 
con Joblink in his choice. 

" You see," he said to the Methodist pastor of Fresno, 
whom he consulted as to his place of settlement, " I do 
not wish to choose so far from some little center of popu- 
lation as to be deprived of church privileges. I am not 
eager for gain in tip is enterprise of mine. My object is a 
life of quiet enjoyment — with a reasonable profit, of 
course — and that would be out of the question if I were 
not within sound of the church-bell — within walking sound 
of it, brother, for my conscience forbids me to impose 
labor upon man or beast on the Ford's day." 

The minister shook the Deacon's hand with a glow of 
approval and pleasure, and suggested a place that was for 
sale within a mile of the town. 

" No," said the Deacon, shaking his head decidedly, 
" one of my objects in forsaking a city life is to remove 
myself from scenes of debauchery and vice. I have ob- 
served that there are a large number of drinking places in 
Fresno, and that profanity is unusually prevalent on your 
streets. Are there not some of the little colonies in this 
region where the sale of liquor is forbidden and where 
stated means of grace are to be enjoyed? " 

The parson did not seem to take as much pleasure in 
telling as the Deacon did in hearing that Pomona Colony, 
ten miles away, supplied these enviable conditions. At 
that time piety rather than wealth distinguished the Metho- 
dist congregation of Fresno. 

" I should indeed be grateful to Providence," mur- 
mured Deacon Joblink, three months later, as he stood in 
the early evening on the veranda of the neat cottage which 
he had erected in the center of his eighty acres and per- 
mitted his benevolent eye to sweep the landscape. Within 
his sight were a score or more of just such homes as his 
own. On his left, forty acres away, was the parsonage, 
tenanted by Rev. Joel Brainbound — a rather voting man, 
it was true, but one who was so grounded in the faith 
which he and the Deacon held in common that he often 
owned (disclaiming pride in the confession) that there was 
nothing more for him to learn here below, and therefore 
he looked forward joyfully to the time when he should be 
called by his Maker to a new world. The church in 
which this completely rounded young shepherd herded his 
flock on each Sabbath, and broke the bread of life for its 
nourishment with a sound that could be heard through 
the whole Colony, raised its pine spire against the twilight 
sky, and as the Deacon's eye rested upon it, the calm of 
pleasant contemplation in which the good man was in- 
dulging was dee|>ened thereby. It was with a more 
worldly but not less innocent contentment that Deac on 
lohlink narrowed his survey to his own possessions. The 
gobbling of his two hundred and fifty turkeys as they 
c limbed his fences for their night's rest, fell upon their 
master's ear, and he smiled. Murmuring again, " I should 
indeed be grateful to Providence, and Maria will be here 
to-morrow," the Deacon, his brow and the bald waste 
above and beyond it cooled and soothed by the gentle 
breeze that was whispering a soft invitation to night to 
come, turned and slowly walked into his new home. 

Rural surroundings had enlarged the Deacon's mind.. 
His daily conversations with vitii ulturists, fruit-growers 
and farmers, and the agricultural essence which satu- 
rated the mental atmosphere of the Colony, had inspired 
him with a wider ambition than that which alone had 
moved him to forsake the city. The turkey remained the 
central sun of his system of purposes, but he determined 
also to grow grapes — for raisins only, of course. Small 
fruits he likewise hoped to raise for his profit and delec- 
tation. The more he branched out the greater his conse- 
quence became in the Colony, and this was not unpleas- 
ant to him. The Pomona Pulveriser hailed him as "an 
enterprising and public-spirited citizen, in whose departure 
from her midst the metropolis has suffered a severe loss, 
and in whom Pomona Colony has gained an acquisition 
the im|K)rtance of which— not only in regard to the de- 
velopment of its undoubtedly great natural resources, but 
to its social life — it would indeed be difficult to adequately 
estimate." 

" It has cost a good deal more than I expected, Maria," 
said the Deacon, as he drove Mrs. Joblink from the 
Fresno station in his new buggy behind his new horses, 
" but I am sure you will not know the place. It is only a 
month since you came up to sec it, and everything was dry 
and bare and at loose ends then. Now I have it all in 
order, and it's as green as grass and. the growing young 



vines and trees can make it; and I'm sure you'll like the 

houseV 

"It's rather bare," exclaimed Mrs. Joblink, who, after 
an examination of the interior of the cottage, viewed the 
prospect from the veranda. 

The Deacon looked surprised and pained. 

" Why can't we have a garden in front of the house ? " 
suggested Mrs. Joblink. 

" To be sure," assented the Deacon ; " I forgot that." 

" Now," observed Deacon Joblink, a week afterward, 
as at the end of a hard day's work he viewed the embryo 
garden, laid out neatly in figures and paths, and dotted 
with twisted twigs whose duty it would be to presently 
become ornamental shrubs and all manner of gaudy flow- 
ers; " now for a delightful country life and a good return 
on the investment." Saying which and rubbing his hands 
with satisfaction, he answered Mrs. Joblink 's somewhat 
querulous summons to supper. 

The hands which the Deacon rubbed were very differ- 
ent from those of the passenger who had alighted at the 
Fresno station three months before, bent on giving to the 
incortx>real turkey of his imagination the substance of re- 
ality on a ranch. The passenger's hands were white and 
soft and pudgy. The hands that the Deacon rubbed 
were as brown as a Digger's, and the palms of them 
rivaled in hardness the horns of the young Jersey bull 
which he had purchased with the idea that a small herd 
of cattle would l>e an appropriate feature of his country 
life in the future. The sun had been at work on the 
Deacon's face, too. His once clean-shaven countenance 
was now covered w ith a short stiff gray beard, the Deacon 
deeming razors and rusticity incompatible. The black 
broadcloth of the passenger was replaced by blue over- 
alls and a cardigan jacket. A collarless woolen shirt, and 
a dusty slouch hat, w ith holes in the crown and a flapping 
brim, had succeeded the linen and silk tile, and heavy 
cowhide boots had taken the place of the passenger's gray 
gaiters and .calfskin. 

Mrs. Joblink did not regard with favor the change in 
her husband's appearance, and said so with a frequency 
that provoked the ordinarily placid Deacon at last to a 
peevishness of retort that surprised her. " How would a 
man look," he demanded, " working around a ranch with 
a plug hat and black frock coat?" 

Other alterations had occurred of a nature more se rious 
than in the vain one of attire. One morning some weeks 
after her arrival Mrs. Joblink stepped out U[wn the sunny 
veranda humming a hymn, when she Stopped suddenly, 
stared, and then rubbed her eyes. 

" Josiah ! " she called in the gasping voice of extreme 
amazement. 

The Deacon, who was plying his spade in the garden 
that was to be, straightened up with the help of his hand 
on his back, and turned inquiringly. 

There was a short black clay pipe in his mouth ! 

The Deacon explained, without the trepidation that 
might have been ex|iected, that he had carelessly acquired 
the habit from his Chinamen while working in the field - 
or rather resumed it, for he acknowledged that in the wild 
and sinful days of his youth smoking had been one of the 
wickednesses which he had forsaken upon his c onversion. 
The turkeys, he said, had given him a good deal of 
trouble, and he felt bound to say that he had found tobacco 
to be extremely soothing to irritation, and also a species 
of companionship in the loneliness which he had experi- 
enced previous to Mrs. Joblinks arrival. 

" I have been greatly surprised," added the Deacon, as 
he further horrified Mrs. Joblink by the practiced way in 
which he struck a match on his leg and relighted his pipe, 
"at the amount of misinformation given by Rogers, 
W illiams, (lobbleton and other writers as to the turkey. 
I feel to rejoice that I altered my original plan and have- 
not made the propagation of this fowl my sole occupa- 
tion. I have no doubt that the books are correct as to the 
profit of raising the turkey, but I must say, Maria, that 
I had an erroneous conception of its— its mental and 
moral qualities, if I may so sjieak of a feathered creature. 
I find it is really an annoying fowl — extremely annoying — 
being deficient in judgment and modesty. It is also ex- 
ceedingly forward, and persists in regarding all things as 
being made for its use and convenience, whereas we know 
that to man was given dominion over all created things. 
I hope that in time I shall be able to bear this truth in 
upon the minds of these mistaken creatures." 

" Minds, Josiah ! " exclaimed Mrs. Joblink, rebukingly. 
" How can you so s|>eak of dumb creatures? " 

"Dumb?" cried the Deacon. "I wish to heaven 
they were ! Their constant clatter has at times nearly 
obscured my reason and clouded my religious convic- 
tions." 

" Josiah ! " 

" Wait till you know 'em better," growled the Deacon, 
who had grown excited. " Watch 'em ! " 

This last had reference to a drove of three score or more 
turkeys which at some distance were approaching, their 
curiosity having been excited by the sound of the conver- 
sation. After a short run they stopped as one fowl, as if 
at a word of command, stretched their necks forward in- 
quiringly, and in concert so exact that it gave .evidence of 
severe drill or marvelous instinct, uttered in a shrill key a 
questioning and exj)Ostulatory "gobble-gobble-gobble." 
This accomplished, there was another short advance, the 
gait suggesting that of fat old gentlemen, with parcels under 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



7 



both arms, running to catch a ferry-boat. Then another 
stop all together, another stretching of necks, another con- 
certed gobble, and a resumption of the expedition in 
search of information. When within ten yards of the 
Deacon the fowls halted, drew up in irregular lines and 
silently examined him, as if he were a strange and curious 
creature, such as no turkey had ever before beheld. In 
order to do the examining each turkey turned his head 
from side to side at intervals, as if it could not believe the 
evidence of one round, staring eye and sought the corrob- 
oration of the other. Every few seconds the aggregated 
opinion was given in the concerted gobble, which could 
be interpreted as conveying either contempt, admiration 
or bewilderment, according to the fancy of the subject 
of it. 

The effect upon Deacon Joblink was to cause him to 
fall to sj>ading in a burst of exasperated energy. The 
turkeys, still standing in their ranks, hailed this display of 
industry by extending their necks and gobbling — in deris- 
ion, as the Deacon in his angry state decided, for he cast 
down his spade and strode across the field toward the 
inclosure in which the young Jersey bull was confined. 
This diversion threw the turkeys into great excitement, and 
the din of their astonished gobbling increased fivefold. 
This, again, answered the purpose of a trumpet-call, for 
other platoons of turkeys came charging up, until the 
whole two hundred and fifty were marching in good 
order at Deacon Joblink's heels. 

He stopped, turned, stamped his foot and yelled : 

" Dang it !" 

" Josiah !" screamed the horrified Mrs. Joblink from 
the veranda. 

"Gobble-gobble-gobble!" came in shocked sympathy 
from the turkeys, which halted with perfect unanimity 
when the Deacon stopped, and gave voice to their emo- 
tion as if timed by the baton of the leader of an orchestra. 

The good man waved his hand deprecatingly to his agi- 
tated wife, and with a strong effort repressed his wrath 
and resumed his walk at a slow and firm pace. 

The turkeys marched behind in solemn silence. 

The Deacon forced his mind to the consideration of the 
great mercies which had been vouchsafed to him during 
his long and prosperous life, and then he dwelt upon the 
sufferings of the poor in great cities and the marvelous re- 
sults of the missionary work of his denomination in Africa 
and China. These reflections calmed his spirit and 
caused him to forget the turkeys, which like an army with 
banners, followed his advance. In musing in deep ab- 
straction ujxm the wonderful progress of the Reformation, 
as exemplified by the defiant establishment of a Metho- 
dist chapel within the very shadow of the Vatican, the 
Deacon rose to a state of exaltation which caused him to 
forget also his intended inspection of his young Jersey 
bull. Thus lost in improving thought, he turned mechan- 
ically toward the cottage. The simple action was -misin- 
terpreted by the turkeys. Pausing only long enough to 
give an amazed and affrighted gobble, they wheeled, and 
breaking ranks, fled in the wildest disorder. The idiocy 
of their terror and the frenzy of the retreat dispelled the 
Deacon's exalted calm, and his choler rose again. Once 
more he strove to choke it down, and quickened his pace 
toward the house, with the prudent purpose of retiring to 
it and thus escaping further temptation. When his rural 
home was gained, the turkeys had rallied in the garden, 
and were scattered about picking up a lunch with a quiet 
languor which showed that the fright of half a minute be- 
fore was gone from their recollection utterly. Indeed, 
when the Deacon with firmly-set lips stumped up the 
steps to the veranda, the turkeys hastened to form ranks, 
stretch out their necks and examine him anew. 

"Gobble-gobble-gobble?" (meaning plainly: "Good 
heavens ! what sort of a creature is this? ") came from the 
turkeys. 

"Damn ye!" roared the Deacon, shaking his fist at 
the inspecting fowls. 

A shriek was heard within the cottage. Mrs. Joblink 
had heard the Deacon's dreadful exclamation. 

A bovine calm was the prevailing condition of Pomona 
Colony. The Colonists were church-goers to a man, and 
as no drink that could intoxicate was permitted to be sold 
within its limits, wedded piety and teetotalism bred peace, 
decorum and dullness. The dancing-master was no more 
welcome than the bottle. The community was too small 
to tempt the most insignificant of traveling shows, even 
had the Colonists been willing to countenance such a 
form of amusement — which they were not, holding as they 
did the stage in all its forms in the sternest reprobation. 
Church-going on Sunday and the prayer meeting on 
Wednesday evening were the only incitements which drew 
the Colonists from their farms and vineyards into public 
assemblage — barring the half-yearly church festival, the 
excitement of which burst of co-operative gayety at once 
prostrated the Colony for some weeks and helped to pay 
the salary of Rev. Joel Brainbound, the same being of 
apostolic measure. The arrival of Deacon Joblink, a 
man of much larger means than any of the Pomonaites, 
was the greatest event that had ever occurred in the his- 
tory of the Colony, and had for a time stirred its torpid 
life as it had never been stirred before. At once he was 
given a high seat in the synagogue, and on the second 
Sabbath after his coming the young pastor preached a 
powerful sermon on. " TheiPnties. of Wealth," leaning 



over the pulpit to bawl his best points directly at the 
Deacon, on whom all eyes were centered ; whereby the 
good man was greatly embarrassed, though apparently not 
displeased or troubled in spirit. No Colonist was more 
regular in his attendance than Deacon Joblink, and it was 
admitted by all the brethren that he was largely blessed 
with the gift of prayer, which he exercised to great edifi- 
cation at the Wednesday evening gatherings, at the con- 
clusion of which he was regularly in receipt of handshak- 
ings and verbal congratulations on the fervor and eloquence 
of his petitions to the Throne of Grace. When, there- 
tore, the Deacon's pew was seen to be empty one Sunday, 
it was not surprising that its emptiness depressed the 
preacher, who only thrice was able to raise his voice until 
his face was purple. At the close of the service the con- 
gregation forgot to discuss the sermon. The Deacon's 
absence engaged all tongues. Was Brother Joblink ill? 
No, for Brother Blacknot had in coming to meeting past 
the Joblink ranch that morning, seen the Deacon chasing 
some turkeys out of his garden with exceeding energy. 

When Wednesday's prayer meeting came and the 
Deacon did not appear, curiosity rose to concern. 
There could be no doubt that he was in health. 
Several of the brethren had seen him at work with 
his spade since the Sabbath, but not near enough 
to the road to converse with him. Five dead tur- 
keys had been found on the county road opposite the 
Joblink fence, and Brother Weavill, who discovered them 
as he drove by to Fresno with a load of wheat, had in- 
tended to stop and inform the Deacon of the fact on his 
return, but it was late and growing dark when that time 
arrived, and he was obliged to hurry home. 

The non-appearance of Deacon Joblink at the taber- 
nacle on the Sabbath following bewildered and alarmed 
the congregation. The brethren consulted seriously re- 
specting the matter, after the benediction, and besought 
the pastor to visit the delinquent and learn what cause of 
offense had been given to alienate from them a man of 
such worldly importance and undoubted piety. 

Rev. Joel Brainbound having, as he subsequently re- 
lated, prayerfully sought in his closet for guidance, walked 
slowly and thoughtfully next forenoon on his mission of 
inquiry and conciliation. On nearingthe Joblink domain 
the preacher was amazed to behold the Deacon, hoe in 
hand, chasing the magnificent full-blooded bronze tur- 
key for which, as the whole Colony knew, he had paid no 
less than fifty dollars. There could be no doubt of the 
Deacon's deadly purpose. His usually calm and deco- 
rous countenance was blazing with fury, and the uplifted 
hoe descended repeatedly within an inch or two of the 
wildly fleeing gobbler. So possessed with rage was the 
Deacon that he had eyes for nothing in his mad and 
bloodthirsty chase but the object of it. His pastor, w ho 
had now come within earshot, was stricken with horror to 
hear issuing from the lips of his principal parishioner a 
stream of the foulest profanity. The main army of the 
turkeys was drawn up at a respectful distance, sending in 
frequent hot volleys of excited gobbles u|K>n the Deacon. 
This lite served but to inflame his fury. Rev. Joel Brain- 
bound had now reached the fence and laid h'old upon it 
to support his sacred person, made limp by amazement 
and dismay. The bronze gobbler fled toward him, as if 
seeking sanctuary. The Deacon was close upon him. 
He brought down the hoe with ferocious force and a yell 
of " Take that, God damn you ! " 

The blow fell short, and Deacon"] oblink stood face to 
face with his pastor. There was not three feet between 
them. 

" I know this ain't the right thing for a godly man to 
do," panted the Deacon, apologetic ally, when he could 
catch his breath. " I know it is shameful and sinful and 
an injury to the cause of religion, but you don't know 
anything about what the devil can make even a saved 
man do when he takes the form of a turkey. They're 
the God damnedest pests that ever came to drive a man 
out of his senses ! " 

" Gobble-gobble-gobble ! " laughed the jeering army. 

With a frenzied squeal and a dreadful belch of oaths 
the Deacon sprang from the preacher and flew at his gob- 
bling tormentors, slaying with his dripping hoe no fewer 
than five particularly fat turkeys which were not able to 
keep pace with the general retreat. 

" He is insane," gurgled the pastor, clinging affrighted 
to the fence, his faculties, dazed and his knees deprived of 
their strength by the shock of what he had seen and 
heard. 

" Never in all my experience," said Parson Brainbound 
in reporting to the brethren the astounding metamorphosis 
in Deacon Joblink, "did I hear such terrible curses as 
this once godly man uttered. His knowledge of scripture 
gave him an advantage over worldly profane swearers, and 
the intensity, singularity and novelty of his oaths, mingled 
as they were with the common expletives of the uncon- 
verted, produced upon my mind an effec t ol the most 
appalling character. I low strange and wonderful are the 
ways of Providence ! Who, know ing the high standing 
and life-long piety of Brother Joblink, could ever have 
conceived that the mere annoyance caused by domestic 
fowls would have hurled him headlong from the watch- 
towers of Zion !" 

" Well, of course there ain't no excuse for Brother Job- 
link," concurred Brother Blacknot ; " but the turkey is a 
mighty tryin' critter." 



-There could be but one outcome of Rev. Joel Brain- 
bound's report. The congregation at a specially called 
meeting, which had been the only topic of conversation 
in the Colony for days beforehand, solemnly resolved to 
withdraw the right hand of fellowship from " our former 
brother, Josiah Joblink, who, by profane swearing and 
unseemly conduct, has brought reproach upon the church, 
of which he was long an ornament." 

Deacon Joblink's descent was rapid. Although he put 
to deadi with his own hand every one of the two hundred 
and fifty turkeys, the effect of their evil deeds during life 
lived after them. The postmaster confided to a friend — 
who gave the information to the whole Colony, of course — 
that Old Joblink (lor so was the fallen man now spoken 
ofi had stopped all the religious periodicals which had 
before come regularly to him, and in their stead the mail 
brought the works of Paine, Voltaire and Ingersoll, and 
newspapers devoted to the pictorial representation of 
crime. It was reported and believed that the Deacon 
had also violated the rules of Pomona Colony by secretly 
having intoxicating liquors conveyed to his house from 
Fresno. His neighbors shunned him. His w ife left him, 
and sued for a divorce on the ground of extreme cruelty. 
He made no defense, and a decree was granted. There 
was joy in the Colony when it became known that Dea- 
con Joblink had sold his ranch. 

One muggy winter morning as the Southern Pacific 
train drew up at the Fresno station, a passenger staggered 
toward it. His clothes were coarse, ill-fitting and much 
worn. A sunburned old felt hat was stuck on the back 
of his uncombed gray head. What a bushy beard per- 
mitted to be seen of his face was inflamed and swollen. 
As the train started this passenger stood on the platform 
and shook his fist in the direction of Pomona Colony. 
A mile out of town he drew a pistol and fired at a turkey 
that from the top of a fence gobbled at the train as it 
passed. 

Deacon Joblink is now keeping a saloon in Bodie. 



THE NOVEL BULL. 



A LESSON IN NATURAL HISTORY. 



Listen: Amelia, wearing a red shawl, — the heroine 
always wears a red shawl, — is walking through the ver- 
dant meadows with Orlando. When they reached the 
middle of the field (crafty animal that bull; always lets 
them get to the middle of the field) a bull shows himself, 
and bellows. 

" Walk quietly to the gate," says Orlando. " I'll take 
off his attention." (Wonderful how easily the novel bull 
w ill allow his attention to be taken off.) 

After a short hesitation Amelia walks towards the gate, 
leaving the red shawl in Orlando's possession. bull 
stares as if he hardly understood this arrangement ; finally 
doesa little bellow ing, and trots forward. Orlando shouts 
and waves the shawl. Bull stops, stares, and again trots 
forward. More shouting and waving of shawl, more 
staring and trotting. 

By this time Amelia has reached the gate. Bull being 
satisfied about this, makes his rush. Orlando performs 
astonishing feats with stones and hat, steadily retreating, 
finally with all the skill of a matador, blinds bull w ith 
shawl and escapes. 

The father of Amelia, having seen all from his study 
window, descends, and places Amelia's hand in Or- 
lando's, blesses them, and so on. Same old story. 

Sometimes it is varied by laborers with pitchforks and 
hoes, but it comes to exactly the same thing in the end — 
the bull foiled and the lovers happy. 

The principal attributes of the novel bull arc: a great 
taste for stamping, bellowing, staring, lashing himself 
with his tail, and digging up the turf with his horns. Then 
good nature and forbearance are very strong points with 
him, for he really never hurts the lady; he is only in fun. 
A careful study of the novel bull has assured me of the 
fact that he never makes his rush till the lady has reached 
the gate. 

Still further, he never hurts the lover; he makes a rush 
at him, stamps on his hat, sometimes sends a horn 
through his coat-tail, but hurts him. What, hurt the 
lover? not for the smiles of a hundred cows. He would 
die first. Yes, sir; die ! 

That bull that ran at Lucy Ashton and was shot by 
Edgar Ravenswood, in dying gave life to hundreds. 

But in .whatever manner the novel bull is used, it is to 
show the bravery of the true lover and the cowardice of 
the false. 

Oh, heroes and heroines, fear the novel bull no more; 
though his bellowing may sound harsh, it is in reality a 
kindness. Bless the bull, all the novelists that ever made 
use of him ought to subscribe and raise a statue to him ; 
the dear, old, haidworkcd, bellowing, stamping, ill-used, 
harmless bull. — The Judge. 



A man in Iowa has patented a hen's nest. By and by 
some man will patent the hen, and then we will have to 
pay for eggs until a plain omelet will taste like a ten- 
dollar bill.- Burlington Hawkeye. 



Now that Tennyson is a real British peer, the aristocratic 
circles of this country will not receive his name with such 
a vacant stare. 



While rummaging in the garret last night we came 
across an old diary of ours bearing the date 1884. — Phila- 
delphia Call. 

Gen. Butler's physicians say that he lacks iron in his. 
blood, Jit must have been absorbed by his backbone, 



8 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 

PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY 
At 420 Kearny street by 
JosechIT. Goodman, Arthur McEwen, Thomas E. Flvnn." 

Subscription : $4 per year, postage paid ; single copies Ten Cents. 
Advertisements: Per month, *4 inch, $4; % inch, $5; I'inch, $6; 2 inches, 
$10: and all additional space $5 per inch. 

Newsdealers supplied by the San Francisco News Company, 210 Post st. 

ENTERED AT THE SAN FRANCISCO POSTOFFICE AS SECOND-CLASS MATTER. 

SAN FRANCISCO - - - FEBRUARY 23, 1884 



A CRISIS REACHED. 



The manliest thing Governor Stoneman has done since 
he went into office and entered upon his disappointing 
career, was the signing of the letter sent in answer to 
Attorney General Marshall's amazing announcement that 
he meant to take unto himself full power to release the 
Central Pacific Railroad Company from the various pen- 
alties incurred in delaying to pay its taxes. Of course 
Governor Stoneman did not write this letter. It is far 
too sensible, vigorous and learned in the law to be the 
production of so feeble and ill-informed a person as our 
Chief Magistrate unfortunately is. Nevertheless Mr. 
Stoneman has fathered the letter, and the act does him 
honor. If he will now follow the letter up with action 
as just and bold as its utterances are, he will do a service 
to the state, and help his party out of the bog of difficul- 
ties into which it has been placed because of his lack of 
brains and courage. There is but one thing now that 
can relieve the Governor from the logical necessity of 
calling an extra session of the Legislature, and that is the 
immediate payment by the railroad company of the full 
claim of the state. As the sum now in dispute is some- 
thing over a million of dollars, the tooth is too big to 
justify the expectation that the patient will submit to the 
pulling of it without a desperate struggle. 

Anyway, an extra session is sorely needed to enforce 
upon the minds of the three men who operate the Cen- 
tral Pacific railroad system that the state is their master. 
The Governor has asserted the sovereignty of the people 
of California — on paper. It now remains for him to give 
the Legislature the opportunity to prove that the state is 
sovereign, and powerful enough to show to this arrogant 
trio that they must stand toward the law on the same 
level as the rest of us. 

It is true that the Legislature cannot by direct legisla- 
tion force the collection of the enormous amount of 
taxes in which Citizens Stanford, Huntington and Crocker 
are in arrears, but it certainly can do things which would 
make them regret to the end of their days that they had 
provoked a conflict with the state. 

The Legislature could make the corporation plaintiff 
hereafter in all tax suits with the state, by providing that 
non-payment within a certain time should work forfeiture 
of charter. Then Messrs. Stanford, Huntington and 
Crocker would have to pay their taxes, with the privilege 
of suing to get them back. The Legislature could sub- 
mit to the people constitutional amendments fixing a 
maximum charge for carrying passengers and freights. 
It could also deprive the railroad company of the present 
highly valuable services of its two rogues on the Railroad 
Commission, by depriving them of office, or by submit- 
ting an amendment to the Constitution increasing the 
number of the Commissioners to five, and authorizing 
the Governor to appoint the two additional members 
in the first instance. Mr. Stoneman, we think, could be 
trusted to put two honest men on the Commission to 
work with Mr. Foote. The Governor we do not suspect 
of being corrupt; he is merely stupid — but not stupid 
enough not to know an anti-monopolist when he sees 
him. Finally, the Legislature could deprive the Central 
Pacific of its charter. The Legislature has plenty of 
power to whip this defiant corporation into decency of 
conduct and humility of mind, but there is a not alto- 
gether ungrounded fear that if the Governor should call an 
extra session the railroad lobby would be found able, as 
it so often has been before, to bribe enough members to 
defeat all legislation distasteful to the corporation. 

This is a real danger, and it should be guarded against. 
We are informed by some citizens, made desperate by the 
unremitting zeal with which the predaceous monopoly has 
robbed them, and made prominent by their courage in 
offering resistance to the thief, that should the Governor 
convoke the Legislature care will be taken to have a 
lobby there in the people's interest. It is intimated that 
the various Democratic county committees which are 
not under the railroad's influence will call the legislators 
of their respective districts before them and instruct them 
as to their course of conduct — with an accompanying 



hint that in the event of their betrayal of the popular in- 
terests they will find it safe not to return to their constitu- 
ents. We are also informed that committees of grangers, 
merchants and other citizens who have a reasonable de- 
termination to protect their pockets if they can, will go 
to Sacramento and stay there during the session, resolved 
to protect legislators from the influence of that profes- 
sional corruptor, Mr. William Stow, and to hang either 
Mr. Stow or his victims, or both, in the event of prevent- 
ive'measures failing. 

We trust that those who inform us that this course of 
conduct has been determined on, and that preixirations 
to carry it out have been made, are not shaking without 
authority. We believe that the hanging of a few bribe- 
taking legislators and bribe-giving lobbyists would have a 
mighty effect for good in this state. We know that such 
hangings would be as universally applauded as the shoot- 
ing of McLaughlin by Cox was uncondemned. A pro- 
found distrust of the efficiency of lawful methods to meet 
the evils worked by money in unscrupulous hands is felt 
everywhere, and particularly in this state. This distrust 
is felt among all classes of the community, and a belief 
in the potency of violence to correct wrongs before which 
the law proves itself to be powerless is very prevalent, 
and rapidly growing. When, last summer, the convic- 
tion was forced upon the people of this state that Railroad 
Commissioners Carpenter and Humphreys had gone over 
to the enemy, and the popular wrath flamed out hotly, 
fierce language was heard everywhere, and from all sorts 
of men. The writer has heard scores of steady-going 
and usually placid and conservative old farmers openly 
wish for the assassination of these two officials. He has 
heard a lawyer, who stands among those at the head of 
the bar of the state, declare with coolness that he would 
defend without fee any one courageous enough to slaughter 
them ; and a Superior Judge expressed to him, with mani- 
fest gratification, the belief that no jury could be found 
which would convict the assassin. Not long ago a citi- 
zen, who is known throughout the state as a man of 
wealth, education and public spirit, said earnestly to us 
that he would draw his check for $10,000 to any set of 
men who would take Charles Crocker out of his office 
and tar and feather him. They are not ignorant, rash 
men who say these things, hut citizens who love their 
country, who have a property interest in the maintenance 
of good order, and who understand the peril to society 
involved in going outside the forms of law to redress 
grievances. But they believe in trying lynching as a 
remedy for official corruption. 

That we correctly state the condition of the public 
mind, no one who has taken the trouble to inform him- 
self of it will deny. It is silly to blink facts, however un- 
pleasant they may be to the timid and conservative 
mind. 

For ourselves, we think the rope none too severe a pun- 
ishment for public servants who take bribes to betray 
their trusts; and if Governor Stoneman calls the Legis- 
lature together, and it is found that the sack of Stanford, 
Huntington and Crockeris heavier in the law-making scale 
than the interest of all the people of the state, then it 
will give us lively satisfaction to get the news that some 
of the more conspicuous villains have been strung up. 

There is no danger that society would not be able to 
withstand the shock of some judicious lawlessness of this 
sort. Men who steal horses are lynched every day, yet 
civilization does not reel— and the crime of a horse-thief, 
compared in its effect upon society to that of a legislator 
who sells his vote, is as a rain-drop to a cloud-burst. The 
people of San Francisco twice rose and tried violence for 
the cure of evils which could not be dealt with effectively 
under the forms of law; and each time the city came out 
purified, and a better and safer place for honest people 
to live in. 



A HEADLESS PARTY. 

The Republican party is feeling the need of the brains 
which it lost when it sawed off its own head, in preventing 
Roscoe Conkling's return to the Senate. The party chose 
to side with Mr. Garfield in that row. The cakes and ale 
were at his disposal, so the politicians closed their eyes to 
his broken promises and ingratitude and reserved all their 
indignation for the proud Senator who broke bis sword 
across his knee, threw it at the feet of his party's chief 
and appealed to the Legislature of his state to give him 
an independent commission. Mr. Garfield and Mr. 
Blaine had Mr. Conkling down, and they gouged him. 
So shameless and unscrupulous an interference of the 
Federal power in the politics of a state was never before 
seen as the President and his Secretary of State were 
guilty of in that contest at Albany—so fruitful of mis- 



fortune to the Republican party. Not only was Mr. 
Conkling politically burked, but his friends— the few that 
self-interest could not buy to forsake him — were insulted 
and driven away from the party table. It was a fine victory 
for the Pecksniffs in the organization. The machinery 
fell into their hands, and they have had pretty complete 
control of it for three years. Mr. Arthur, when he be- 
came President, either rose to the dignity of his office, or 
had not the pluck to make reprisals — anyway, he ceased 
to be a partisan of Mr. Conkling, and has held aloof 
from the civil war in his party. The Half-breeds have 
held under Arthur all that they grabbed under Garfield, 
and the Stalwarts have remained in the place where they 
originally fell when they were thrown over the fence. 

No Half-breed has arisen to take Mr. Conkling's place 
as the Republican leader. Our friend Hoar of Massa- 
chusetts tried on the mantle, but he wore it so much en 
train that it was laughed off him. Honest John Sher- 
man, with his wonderful head for figures and genius for 
getting rich in office, is trying it on just now ; but it is al- 
most as large a fit as it was for Mr. Hoar. Mr. Edmunds, 
the ablest Republican left in the Senate, has held his old 
respectable position, and nothing more. The electric 
Mr. Blaine has been by tragic accident snuffed out po- 
litically quite as completely as he and Mr. Garfield ex- 
tinguished Mr. Conkling. 

The party is wandering helplessly around without a 
head. The time for the National Convention is but three 
months off, if it is to be held as early this year as it was 
in 1880; yet there is deadness of spirit, irresoluteness 
and discouragement in the camp of the once alert and 
aggressive party. The sore smiting which the people in 
nearly every state have given it since Mr. Garfield's death, 
has bewildered it. It bases its hope for success this fall 
not upon the merit of its performances, the excellence 
of its promises, or the ability and popularity of its candi- 
date, but upon the sins and blunders of the Democrats. 
That is apparently the solitary solace of the party, and it 
sits down feebly and hugs it. We are not saying that it 
is not a reasonably sound ground upon which to base 
hope, but assuredly it is not a respectable one. 

When the time for giving and taking hard knocks 
comes, we shall not be surprised to hear a cry for Conk- 
ling and Grant to save the party in 1884, as they did in 
1880. Perhaps they will be generous enough to give their 
services again, but we doubt it. They will be very mag- 
nanimous men if they do. 

It is high time the Republicans were looking for a 
leader. Sherman, with his face of corrugated iron and 
icy temperament, will not do. Blaine is not what he 
once was. It is said now that his record has shady places 
that would tell against him as a candidate; but that goes 
for little. Mr. Blaine's record has far fewer spots on it 
than Mr. Garfield's had. He is simply shelf-worn, and, 
like Colonel Bob Ingersoll's eloquence, has a musty 
smell. Mr. Arthur has surprised the country by the mod- 
est excellence of his administration, but he is too tame a 
man to lead in a presidential fight. Mr. Edmunds is the 
best of the lot, but he is not the sort of man to fight for a 
nomination, or one to have it thrown at him in a blaze of 
enthusiasm by a convention. All the chances point to 
the nomination of another nobody, who, after his nomi- 
nation, will be discovered to be a towering statesman of 
resplendent purity and unequaled patriotism. 

The election of another Republican President of the 
dark-horse variety would be very doubtful. Heretofore 
the party has been able to rely upon the corporations 
and the wealth of the country generally to give its can- 
didate their almost solid backing; but the Democrats 
have been making some stiff bids for a division of this 
potent support. Witness the failure of the Ohio Demo- 
crats to seize the opportunity to return to the Senate Mr. 
Thurman, the man of all others in the party most dis- 
tasteful to the corporations which take a hand in politics. 

Mr. Conkling is a proud man. He played the part of 
savior once, and was crucified. His party will have to 
eat a fearful quantity of humble pie before he will risk 
the role again. But, viewing the helpless state of the 
organization and its utter lack of leadership, the wisest 
thing it could do would be to set about the consumption 
of the humble pie as soon as possible. 



PUBLIC OPINION. 

The publishers of The San Franciscan have received a 
great deal of advice— and kindly meant advice, too— as 
to the position which the paper should take on various 
important questions. Our advisers have differed in many 
respects, but in one they have been unanimous— in their 
unquestioning belief that they know what public opinion 
is, what public opinion will approve, and what pub' 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



lie opinion will not tolerate. Every man, however 
doubtful he may be as to what his own opinions 
are, is pretty sure that he knows what other people 
think. He flatters himself, too, that he holds opin- 
ions too deep and advanced for his neighbors to 
comprehend, and cautiously keeps them to himself against 
the time when public opinion will be educated up to his 
level. The often-quoted saying that public opinion is 
nobody's private opinion, is as wise as it is witty. The 
man who deems himself ahead of his time, and who is 
betrayed into expressing his thoughts, discovers to his 
surprise that their boldness and originality startle no- 
body — that his neighbors have all along been thinking the 
same as he has.* 

Public opinion is largely an ogre of the imagination, 
but it is a very potent ogre notwithstanding. It cramps 
the press into conventional ruts. It compels editors to 
write differently from what they think ; it makes cowards 
and pretenders of them. It reduces printed thought to a 
dead uniformity. It bullies men into letting their 
minds lie idle and accepting other people's thoughts for 
their own. It forces men to profess belief in what they 
do not believe, and to conform to customs which they 
secretly reprobate. Men turn pale before this unsub- 
stantial ogre, and tremblingly submit to its tyranny. Yet 
when one walks boldly up to the terrifying ghost to shake 
his fist under its nose, he usually finds that there is no 
nose to shake his fist at, and no ghost there at all — only 
the shadow of his own timidity and vanity projected on 
the road before him. 

"I looked into myself," wrote Rousseau, "and I knew 
mankind." Along newspaper experience has taught us 
that the mass of the people — the people whose opinions 
in the aggregate make public opinion — have good sense, 
and like courage in those who speak to them. We have 
also found that the man who fancies himself much wiser 
than the ordinary run of his fellows, is apt to be awakened 
some day to a realization of the fact that the race of asses 
is not yet extinct. When a man with reasonably good 
brains and judgment thinks out a conviction, he is pretty 
sure to find himself in a large company if he has the 
bravery to speak his conviction. 

But it is not always necessary to be in accord with 
what is really public opinion in order to get a respectful 
hearing. We have seen General Sherman lean from a 
hotel balcony and tell a crowd of miners that Chinese 
immigration was a good thing, and that they were cow- 
ardly and foolish to object to coolie competition. Had 
almost any one been asked beforehand what would have 
happened upon the heels of such a speech in a Pacific 
Coast mining town, the answer would have been that the 
speaker would be hooted or stoned from the stand. But 
nothing of the kind occurred. On the contrary, the 
miners, afteran astonished pause, broke into laughter, and 
applauded the General for his pluck and frankness. 

For public opinion, as it is usually understood, we 
have no respect whatever. A public opinion that forbids 
the speaking of honest convictions on any subject de- 
serves contempt, and ought to be defied. No question 
should be too sacred for discussion. Prejudice and igno- 
rance have no right to forbid the floor to reason and 
knowledge — though they have tried to do it with great 
persistence, and considerable success, time out of mind. 

We think we know what public opinion is — real pub- 
lic opinion — as well as any one can tell us. We thought 
so when we put forth the first number of this paper, and 
the cordial reception given it by the people has confirmed 
us in this belief. One of our objects in publishing the 
paper is to enable us to enjoy the luxury of writing just 
as we think — a very rare luxury, as all journalists know. 
We believe that a sham public opinion suppresses the 
voice of the real public opinion. We believe that when 
we speak our minds plainly about any subject, no mat- 
ter what, the real public opinion will honor the sincerity 
of the utterance, whether it accepts the view or not. We 
do not mean that we have hobbies to ride or strikingly 
novel opinions to wreak upon the public, but simply 
that as sensible men of experience we shall have our 
honest say about matters of common interest as occasion 
arises. This may seem a commonplace programme 
enough, but it is in reality one that no journal ham- 
pered by either timidity or restraining financial interest 
can follow. 
We shall be our own advisers. 



The excessive rainfall over the whole continent will go 
far to sustain those who hold to the aqueous theory in 
respect to the recent glow in the heavens. The moisture 
was presumably suspended for a long while at an altitude 
where it was not affected by the ordinary wind currents. 
If there should be nojmore luminous skies, this solution 
will be universally regarded as the true_one. 



A NERVELESS PARTY. 

The bold Democracy marched up Tariff Hill a few 
weeks ago with banners flaunting and bands playing, 
cheering for Carlisle. Morrison was put forward to fire a 
shell into the camp of the Protectionists, in the shape of 
his bill for a substantial horizontal reduction of duties. 
The shell burst, and raised all the excitement that any 
one could wish, but no consternation ensued. Indeed, 
all the consternation appears to be in the camp from 
which the shell was sent, as the reply was a fierce and 
well-sustained musketry fire along the whole Protectionist 
line. The army of Protection fights well. It is ably 
generated. The officers are paid magnificently, and the 
troops are made to believe that they are, too— which is 
just as good, so far as inspiring them to fight goes, as if 
they really were. 

So the Democratic hosts are marching down Tariff Hill 
again, all demoralized, crying for quarter, and protesting 
that notwithstanding their Free Trade uniform, they are 
Protectionists at heart — at least good enough Protection- 
ists to have mercy shown them by their pursuers. 

The Democratic party is standing out in another storm 
of its own making. It has not the sense to confess that 
it is drenched, and to turn back out of the wet ; neither has 
it the courage to face the storm and press forward to the 
dry ground which it knows must be beyond. It is not 
brave enough to fight to win, and it is too stupid to keep 
altogether out of a fight in which the combatant with the 
poorest staying qualities is sure to be worsted. The 
Democratic party interests itself in the tariff question just 
enough to arouse the Protectionists against it and to dis- 
gust the Free Traders with it. Mr. Tilden made a very 
wise remark when he said that the Democratic party 
would win when it had the courage to be Democratic. 
It seemed in 1880, when the party put forward in its plat- 
form the frank declaration that it stood for a tariff for 
revenue only, that it had at la t lifted a standard under 
which believers in unhampered exchange could unite and 
offer battle to the holders of the belief that commerce is 
benefited by being artificially clogged and weighted. 
But when the discussion of the tariff, thus invited, began, 
instead of maintaining their ground, the Democrats fell 
to protesting, with an earnestness as frantic as it was ridic- 
ulous, that when they said in their platform that the party 
believed in a tariff for revenue only, it really meant that 
it wanted a tariff for other things besides revenue — for any 
thing that would please enough voters to elect the Demo- 
cratic candidate. 

This sacrifice of principle to fancied expediency has 
kept the Democratic party out of power for nearly a quar- 
ter of a century, and, judging from present signs, is likely 
to keep it out for a good many years to come. The 
people are sick enough of the Republican party, yet it is 
not probable that they will turn a bad tenant out to put a 
worse one in. 

But whatever the Democratic party does or fails to do, 
the tariff question is certain to push itself forward for 
settlement. The Republican party is fully committed to 
the policy of Protection. It is true that there are many 
Free Traders within its lines, but they stay there because 
they agree with its principles in general, and because 
there is no party which bids for their votes by boldly an- 
tagonizing the Republican position on the. tariff. Such 
a party is sure to be formed sooner or later. The next 
period of " hard times " will, we think, give it birth. The 
working millions are told that Protection secures to labor 
high wages, and the majority of them believe it. When 
high wages are not to be had — when even low wages are 
difficult to get — the workers will be puzzled over the ques- 
tion of why it is that, with the high-wages-producing 
tariff still in existence, the wages are not forthcoming. 
TheYnonstrous absurdity of the proposition that to make 
things dear is a benefit to the consumer will, perhaps, 
break upon their intelligence. They may come to under- 
stand the business folly of taxing themselves to pay a few 
of their number to produce things which can be made 
much cheaper elsewhere. Possibly they may compre- 
hend the fact that labor is not an end good in itself, but 
a disagreeable means for the securing of its fruits. It 
may suggest itself to them that if to make work plentiful 
be the most beneficent function of government, then 
every labor-saving machine should be destroyed, and the 
invention of others guarded against as a public evil. If 
to create a demand for labor be part of the government's 
business, why should not the railroads be torn up and the 
work of transportation be shifted to the backs of horses 
and men? And why not forbid the growing of oranges 
in Florida and California, roof Alaska with glass, and 
raise them there? That would create an immense de- 
mand for labor, and it would be entirely logical for the 



Protectionists to advocate the scheme. It would 
oranges dearer, of course; but if some visionary oi .1 
Free Trader should arise and say it was folly to <^row 
oranges in Alaska in hot-houses, when it would be much 
easier and cheaper to grow them in the open air in Cali- 
fornia, the Protectionists would instantly denounce him 
as an enemy of the workingmen, bent upon the malevo- 
lent purpose of depriving them of profitable labor. 

If it is a good thing to increase the productive power of 
a man by machinery, which enables him to do the work 
that a score of men formerly earned a livelihood by doing, 
why is it a good thing to tie one of his hands behind him 
and fasten a ball and chain to his leg when he starts with 
the product of his labor to market ? If it is a good thing 
to make production as easy and cheap as possible, why is 
it a good thing to make the exchange of products— which 
is commerce — as difficult and dear as possible ? 

We are building railroads into Mexico to supply a bet- 
ter means of taking our wares to that country and of 
bringing her wares to us, and both countries rejoice over 
the prospect of an increased trade ; yet each fatuously 
sets up a tariff which must hinder the expansion of 
that trade, for to increase the price of any article is to 
decrease the demand for it. 

The prosperity with which peace, good seasons for un- 
protected agriculture, and vast natural resources have 
blessed the country of late years, is claimed by the Pro- 
tectionists as the result of the tariff system, and a majority 
of the people are simple enough to believe them. When 
our prosperity shall be interrupted by a bad season or 
two, or by other causes, this god to whom the people 
are taught to return thanks for nature's good gifts, may 
meet the fate of the African idols whose business it is to 
send rain, and who are spat upon and broken when 
drought afflicts their angry worshipers. 

When that time comes the Democratic party will risk 
nothing in standing for a revenue tariff, and may have the 
courage to fight the Protectionists as they ought to be 
fought. Now it is pitiful to read the press of the party in 
its defense of the Morrison bill. The Democratic organs 
of this state grind the tune that rises feebly all over the 
land. California raises grapes and wool. The organs 
believe in Morrison's bill— with the exception of the tariff 
on wool and wines and raisins. That ought to remain 
untouched, and even be increased. In other words, wine, 
raisins, clothing and blankets should be made dearer to 
the people of the whole country in order that the profits 
of the handful of California wool-growers and vineyard- 
ists should be made larger. So it is in every state ; the 
local interests force a sacrifice of principle and consistency. 

A party which is not capable of taking a larger grasp 
than this of a great public question, which involves the 
interests of the whole people, cannot expect to inspire 
respect; and a party that is in public contempt may 
stretch ever so eagerly over the political fence for the 
thistle of office, but it will remain beyond the reach of 
its jaws. 

A funeral procession moved through the streets one 
afternoon this week that made a deeper impression upon 
the careless crowds passing on the sidewalks than funerals 
commonly do. It was the body of a murdered police- 
man being carried to the grave, and a hundred or more 
of his blue-coated comrades marched before the hearse. 
It is seldom that policemen are looked upon with such 
sympathetic glances as were bestowed upon these. The 
policeman is not a popular character. He does not 
always wear modestly the authority with which he is 
clothed, and too frequently makes himself odious by its 
exercise in the maintenance of his own dignity rather than 
for the public good. So, when we read that an officer 
has used his club or pistol, the inclination is to take sides 
against him. We seldom pause to think of the real perils 
of the policeman's lot. It is only when one of them falls 
by" the knife or revolver of a desperate criminal that 
we realize the dangers of the occupation, and perceive 
the justice of waiting for all the facts before we condemn 
the officer when he resorts to the weapons given him by 
the law for his protection. It says much for the courage 
and self-control of the police that they do not use them 
more. 

The newspapers of this city, which seemingly cannot 
forgive Henry George for having become famous, have 
noted with exultation that he has been attacked energet- 
ically by the London press. George's doctrine of land 
nationalization is about as agreeable to the ruling landlord 
class of England as the preachings of the Abolitionists 
were to our own slave-owners. No wonder the London 
press attacks George. But who among us, brethren, has 
written that which makes him prominent enough to be 
worthy of attack by the press of London or any other city ? 



IO 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



MURDER WILL OUT. 



BY WII.IJAM I.OVEI. EYRE. 



Some years ago I had a room in a house on Stoc kton 
street, near what is now Montgomery avenue. It over- 
looked a little alley-way running from Stockton to I'owell. 
A queer little street whose name I never knew, hut whieh 
widened almost into a court as it neared I'owell street. I 
spent much of my time at home. I am a pretty keen ob- 
server, and by the aid of very powerful opera-classes used 
to derive much amusement and material for Den -Subjects 
by studying, through their aid, the peculiar people who 
constituted the inhabitants of this weird little street. This 
same street was the battle-ground of, it seemed to me, all 
the cats in San Francisco, and many a time, when seek- 
ing sleep after a day's hard writing, have I damned my 
immortal soul by cursing them. But I am not writing 
now about cats. 

My room was in the third story, and as our house 
jutted out some six feet further into the court -like street 
than the others, I had ample opportunities of seeing what 
was going on all around me. There was one window 
nearly op|osite to mine which particularly attracted my 
attention, and which, after nightfall, 1 spent many an hour 
looking at through my glasses. The room to w hich this 
window belonged was a few feet lower than mine, so that 
when a light was in it I could see any part of it distinctly, 
for there were no blinds or shutters to the window. 
Against the wall on the side opposite to the window 
stood a sort of < amp-bed. A rickety table made of coarse- 
redwood stood in the daytime in the center of the room, 
but at night was always moved to the window, and on it 
a badly trimmed kerosene lamp flickered. 

During the whole of my observations I had seen but 
two people in that room — one an old man, apparently 
over seventy. His head was quite bald, with the excep- 
tion of a fringe of gray hair which formed a semi-circle on 
a level with the tops of his ears. The still full and broad 
chest told of immense power at some time, while the 
shaky legs showed that age and infirmity had commenced 
to work slowly upward. 1 lis face and head were mottled 
w ith livid, purple spots. His nose was large and hawk-like, 
and his eyes had the dull glare of a hungry vulture. Al- 
together a more repulsive specimen of humanity I never 
had the misfortune to ga/e upon. He looked like a hard 
case. 

The other inhabitant of this comfortless room was a lad 
of sixteen or seventeen, with a sickly, putty-colored face, 
a narrow chest and long thin legs. I heard him call the 
old man grandfather. When he came home in the evening 
his hands ami face were always begrimed with printer's 
ink, and I cone hided that he must be a pressman's assist- 
ant. Of the old man's occupation I could not form even 
a surmise. 

Several times, as I sat in the dark at my open window, I 
saw the old Ouilp-like man beat the lad most unmerci- 
fully. The boy never resisted, but only begged for mercy. 

The youth did not sleep in the same room with the old 
man, and when he had gone to bed the old sinner nightly 
went through a performance which aroused my curiosity. 
He would move the table from the center of the room, 
place it up by the window and then squat down in the 
middle of the lloor. His bac k was toward the window, 
and he was in such a |>osition that I could not see from 
where I was what he was doing. 

One warm night in August I went to bed about mid- 
night, and left my window wide open in order to get as 
much fresh air as possible. 1 had just dozed off to sleep 
when I was aroused by loud shouts and cries of distress. 
I jumped out of bed, and rushing to the window, looked 
out. The sky was cloudy and the night very dark, but 1 
could tell at once that the noise came from that mysteri- 
ous room. This time it was not the lad's voice, and I 
thought to myself that he had suffered long enough, and 
had at last turned upon his persecutor; and I felt a sort 
of satisfaction at the idea of the tables being turned upon 
the old mist ream. In a few seconds, and before I could 
catch a word that wa ssaid, the sounds ceased suddenly, 
with a muffled scream that made me shudder. 

The man in the room below mine was also at his win- 
dow. He looked up and said : 

" Did you hear that? " 

" Yes. Something surely is the matter." 

" How long have you been listening?" 

" Only a few set onds." 

"I have been lure over a minute, and could almost 
swear I beard an old man's voice cry ' murder ! ' " 

" I guess it was only the old man giving his grandson 
one of his periodical thrashings, and the boy let him have 
one himself." 

"I don't think so; the noises lasted a much shorter 
time than usual, and 1 could not distinguish the boy's 
voice." 

" Well that makes things look kind of queer. Sup- 
pose we take a run across and see what is up. Are you 
dressed ? " 

" No." 

" Hurry up and I will meet you in the hall, and we will 
both go over the way." 

In five minutes we were both in the Open air. We went 
to the door which led into the house from which these 

strange sounds had proceeded, but it was locked. In 



vain we battered at the door for admittance. Not a soul 
stirred within. At last we came across a police officer, 
and told him our suspicions of foul play. 

The policeman took exactly the same view of the case 
that we did, and beat such a merry tattoo upon the door 
that we soon heard somebody moving about, and saw a 
light inside. Then a grumbling old woman poked her 
head out of one of the windows and asked us what we 
wanted. The officer told her that he demanded admit- 
tance in the name of the law. After a few minutes' delay 
we were let in, and the old woman very reluctantly showed 
us the way upstairs. 

In answer to our inquiry as to where the old man 
roomed, the woman pointed to a door, handed the candle 
to the police officer and left us. 

The officer knocked, but receiving no answer, opened 
the door, and we all followed him into the room. 

We found ourselves in a kind of lobby, with a window 
looking out into a sort of court, or yard between the 
house we were in and the next to it. There was not a 
soul there, but a confused heap of dirty blankets, a tat- 
tered quilt and an old jacket led us to conclude that this 
was where the wretched lad used to sleep. On the left 
we saw another door. The officer knocked at this several 
times, got no answer, o|>ened it and went in. 

An exclamation from him made us hastily enter the 
room. He was standing in the middle of the apartment, 
holding the candle down so as to better see the figure of a 
man lying flat on his face at his feet. The table was 
overturned, and there was a strong smell of coal oil about 
the place. The figure was half undressed, and at the 
back of its neck rested a short round rtick, like a piece 
cut off a broom-handle. The policeman laid hold of this 
to remove it, but could not. He handed me the candle, 
stoo|>cd down and turned the figure over. 

Simultaneously all three of us uttered a cry of horror, 
and my companion and I instinctively drew back. 

The features were scarcely recognizable. The face was 
a dark purple, the tongue lolled out of the mouth and the 
eyeballs protruded from their sockets ; the lips w ere drawn 
back, exposing the toothless gums, and in the neck was a 
deep indention, though no blood could be seen. 

" Murder!" muttered the jwliceman, in a deep voice- 
that seemed to wake the echoes in that ghastly room. 
He then turned the body over again, took hold of the 
sti< k and found tied to each end of it a strong piece of 
cord. Upon following this cord it was found to bury 
itself in the neck of the corpse. It was then evident that 
the loop formed by the string had been thrown over the 
old man's nec k, and he had been strangled by twisting 
the stick around. 

We hastily cut the string; but life was extinct, though 
the corpse was still quite warm. 

" You said something about a lad ; where is he?" asked 
the officer. " He must be found, for I guess he did this 
job. Will you two stay here while I get some help?" 

We consented to do so, and he soon returned with an- 
other officer and a detective. Nothing of importance 
being discovered, my companion and myself gave our 
names and addresses and went back to bed. 

Three hours after we left, it then being dawn, the dead 
body of the lad was found lying among the rubbish in the 
little yard between the two houses. There were no marks 
of violence ti|>on him except a smashed-in skull, caused 
by the fall. There were a few bruises on one shoulder, 
which must have sustained part of the shock of the fall. 
The body was found lying on its back, with its face to the 
wall. 

That afternoon Dr. Rice held an inquest, and both my 
companion and myself were subpoenaed. We told our 
story, whic h w as simply a repetition of what I have already 
said. The old woman who kept the house testified that 
deceased occupied two rooms on the third floor. I [e had 
been there two years. The boy was with him all the 
time. She did not think that the old man was more than 
just making a living. He never spoke to any of the 
lodgers. Each Saturday he knocked at her door, and 
without a word handed in his week's rent. She had no 
fault to find with him as a lodger, except that he annoyed 
the other people in the house by the way he beat the boy, 
and the noise the boy made when beaten. The front 
door was always left open until she went to bed, which 
was usually about nine P. M. On the previous night she 
had gone to bed at ten P. II., and had as usual dosed the 
door, and remembered nothing until aroused by the police 
officer. 

The medical testimony went to show that strangulation 
had been the cause of the old man's death, and that the 
fracture of the skull was what killed the lad. There was 
but little blood found in the brain of the boy. More- 
blood is usually found in that of a healthy waking |>er- 
son. The general idea seemed to be that the boy, goaded 
on by abuse, had strangled the old man, and then com- 
mitted suicide by jumping out of the window. Hut the 
doctor gave it as his opinion that deceased had been 
thrown from the window when either dead or insensible. 

The jury returned a verdict, in the case of the old man, 
of murder against some person or persons unknown. In 
the lad's case an 0|>en verdict was. returned of "Found 
dead." 

The Governor of the state offered $1,000 reward for 
the detection of the guilty parties, and the whole of our 
detective force tried their hands at the unraveling of the 



knot, but with no success. Not a single clew could be 
obtained. 

On e morning about two months after the murder I was 
sitting quietly smoking in my room, when my landlady 
knocked at my door and handed me a card. It read : 

C. F. BROMWELL, 

Pri-. ate Detective. \ 

I told her to show the gentleman up, and the detective 
entered my sanctum. He looked like a man that would 
stick at nothing to gain his jx)int, and had that quiet 
manner which one so often finds associated with indomita- 
ble determination and nerve power. His business, as I 
had surmised, related to the late murder, ^md he pumped 
me pretty hard for information. I had none to give him, 
and told him so. He, on the other hand, informed me 
that the old man had kept a sort of junk store on Clay 
street, near the city front ; had the reputation of being a 
" fence," and must have been possessed of a considerable 
amount of coin. Finding that I knew nothing, the de- 
tective soon left, leaving me his address, and I promising 
to communic ate at once should I by chance strike the 
faintest clew. 

After he had gone I relit my pipe, and as my eyes rested 
upon the w indow so associated in my mind with the late 
tragedy, a sudden idea struck me. The more I turned it 
over in my mind the more substantial and rational the 
form it assumed so much so that I sent for a messenger- 
boy and gave him a note asking Bromwell to come up to 
my room at once. 

The detective was soon on hand, and after warning him 
that it was purely fancy upon my part, and offering to 
divide all ex|ienses and profits with him, I explained my 
theory. 

In the first place, I asked him if the rooms where the old 
man and lad had lived were still to let, and on hisanswering 
in the affirmative, I told him that we must take them for a 
month. Then he must examine the floor in the center of 
the old man's room, and having done so, lock the doorpnd 
come back to me. 

In less than half an hour he was back, and said he had 
rented the rooms, examined the floor, and found in the 
center of it a loose plank. This he easily pulled up, and 
found a sort of compartment that had evidently been used 
for some pur|X)se. There were no cobwebs in it, as there 
usually are between floor and ceiling. 

" Bromwell, we have made our first discovery. That is 
where the old man kept his money. We have also dis- 
covered the cause for the double murder. Now, my 
theory is that the boy was chloroformed, the old man 
strangled, the money taken, and that the boy was then 
thrown out of the window to make it appear as though he 
had murdered the old man and then suicided in a fit of 
remorse." 

The detective saw at once the probability of my theory, 
and suggested that he felt sure the guilty jjerson or per- 
sons resided in that very court, and having by some acci- 
dent seen the old man de|xjsiting his gold or notes, had 
determined to kill him and steal the money. 

I held exactly the same opinion, and now proposed a 
peculiar scheme of my own to find out the murderer. 
Months before I had often noticed when looking down 
the alley-way a small telesco|>e protruding from a certain 
w indow of a house on the same side of the street as mine, 
but nearer to I'owell street. Putting this and that 
together, I somehow could not help but associate that 
telescope and its owner with the murders. I now pro- 
posed the following plan to the detective : 

" You must go at once to some theatrical costumer 
(there is one near the California Theater) and get the 
means of making up as like the murdered man as [wssible. 
You must have a wig with a bald purple crown, and so 
on. I laving got these, come up here and 1 will paint and 
dress you. I have the materials, and can make you up 
so that hardly any one would know the difference between 
yourself and the old man. Come in a coupe to-morrow 
night." 

At the appointed time Bromwell was on hand, bring- 
ing with him all the materials for personating the mur- 
dered man, and 1 soon had him capitally made up. 

" At midnight," I continued, "we will both go over to 
the murdered man's room, and take this lamp along; it is 
an exact counterpart of-the one found broken in his room. 
At about half-past twelve you will light the lamp and 
move about near the window. Then sit at the table for 
ten minutes or so, facing the lamp. When you get up, go 
to the center of the room, and sit dow n on the floor with 
your back to the window and take up the loose board. 
You must remain in this |x>sition until you hear me from 
the next room knock at the partition. You must then 
jump up suddenly, turn around facing the window, and 
pointing at the empty hole, shake your fist at the window 
as if in a terrible rage. After this leave the lamp lit and 
come to me in the next room, where I shall have been at 
work with my opera-glasses watching the window I sus- 
pect of leading to where the murderer is." 

Bromwell was soon going through his pantomime, while 
I watched my window. It was not long before I saw the 
figure of a man appear. He seemed to strain his eyes in 
our direction. He had not looked long before he sprang 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



bark like one struck by a ball. He was full in the light 
of his lamp, and I could distinctly see the look of horror 
on his face. Soon he moved the lamp and produced the 
telescope I had seen so often at that same window. Then 
I gave the signal to Bromwell. who joined me in the other 
room, and we both returned to my lodgings. 

"Now," said I to Bromwell," I want you to stand at 
the old man's window again to-morrow night, about the 
same time, but to take with you a piece of wood and a string 
similar to that with which he was strangled. I in the 
meantime will make for the room where the man with the 
telescope is. If I wave my hand from his window, drop 
all disguise and come over at once. 

The night came and found the detective at his post. 1 
went to the house where the man with the telescope was, 
and where was a notice of " Rooms to let by day, week or 
month," and knocked loudly at the door. After some 
delay it was opened by a small, squarely built man, with 
long, powerful arms, and a hump on his back. I told 
him I wanted to hire a room for a month. 

He grumbled a good deal about the lateness of the 
hour, but finally agreed to show me some vacant rooms 
on the,same story as his own. I clutched my pistol firmly 
as I ascended the steps, and held it in my poc ket in such 
a way that I could use it at a moment's notice. Arrived 
at the third floor, I examined all the rooms, but pretended 
that none suited me. When we came to the last door lie 
paused and said : 

"That's where I sleep. You don't want to see that ; 
it's just like the others." 

" I should like to see that room," I replied. 

With evident reluctance he at last opened the door. 
I entered and closed it after me. On the table I saw the 
telescope and a hammer. 

Mm h to the chagrin of the hunchback, I quietly took 
a seat, remarking that the stairs were pretty Steep. He 
seemed too much astonished to speak, but 1 saw him 
steal his hand in the direction of the table and grasp the 
hammer. 

" How plainly you can see the lights in the windows 
on the other side from here," I said, as I took up the 
telescope, which was already adjusted to the exact focus 
required to see into the old man's room. "There, now, 
I can see an old man with a bald head, sitting on the floor. 
A board is raised, and he is running gold through his 
fingers." 

A bang on the floor made me turn suddenly round. 
The hammer had fallen from the nerveless hand of the 
hunchback ; his face was ashy white, and his eyes as large 
as saucers. 

" Is // there again?" he cried. 

"Take the glass and look," I said, at the same time 
waving my hand to Bromwell. 

The hunchback caught oneglimpseof the retreating form 
of the counterfeit murdered man, and then, .turning round, 
seized a small vial that was on his bureau, drew the stop- 
per out, and before I could get to him had swallowed 
part of its contents. His whole frame quivered for a few 
seconds, his face turned purple, and he fell back a corpse. 
It was prussic acid. 

Bromwell and 1 found $<S,ooo in gold in the hunch- 
back's mattress. 

Well, Bromwell and I divided the $r,ooo reward, and 
it gave both of us a lift in life. It made for Bromwell a 
reputation as a detective that he had hardly deserved. 
But he is a good fellow, anyway, so what does it matter? 



PATRIOTIC ALWAYS. 



Toward the close of a meeting of the organization 
known as the Anc ient Order of Evicted Mooneysvillains, 
last Wednesday evening, the President, Mr. Patrick Mc- 
l.ime, rapped his desk with the small hod which serves 
him for a gavel, and observed with dignity : 

"Gintlemin, the business av the matin' bein' can- 
cloodid, the chair will inthertain a motion to adjoorn." 

" Misthur President ! " said Mr. Murphy, rising. 

" Misthur Murphy," said the President. 

" Oj make you a motion, sor," proceeded Mr. Murphy, 
"that our hall do be lookin' mowldy loike, an' that before 
we adjoorn we arder it fwhitewashed." 

" Oi sicond the motion av Misthur Murphy," cried 
Dennis Kearney. 

"Can Michael Joseph have the flure?" asked a gen- 
tleman who is a power in local politics. 

" Ye can, Mr. Kelly," said the Chairman. 

"Thin, Mr. Prisident, Oi amine! the motion, that we 
fwhitewash the hall green in commimoration av our native 
land ! " 

Carried, amid immense applause. Michael Joseph now 
has the Assembly nomination of the district in his 
pocket. 

A doctor obligated himself to cure a man's wife, but 
failed. 

" You said that you would cure her," exclaimed the 
indignant husband. 
" Yes, I said so." 
" Well, why didn't you?" 

" Why, my dear sir, because she died. If she hadn't 
died, the chances are that she would have lived-"— Ar- 
kansaw Traveler, 



SUNSET ON III 1 . HAY OK SAN FRANCISCO. 



BY WILLIAM A. BAMILL. 



The day went outward from the Colder) Cate, 

A tide of llaniing gold and crimson light ; 
The meager heads, the hills and peaks elate, 

Within its glow grew more than earthly hright ; 

The ocean heaved a heaven upon the sight. 
While-walled ahove the deep and tranquil hay 

The city rose from dazzling height to height, 
Its gardens, walls, green slopes and mansions gay 
With heavenly colors closed the failing eye of day. 

Hy wharf and stair and blackened gallery, 

Arising where the charmed tide diil creep, 
The boats and shipping all confusedly 

Lay forested, a tangle wide and deep 

Of masts and spars and shadowy sails asleep. 
The commerce of the world beneath her feet, 

The city smiled from every crowded steep, 
With trappings fluttering from roof and street, 
And clambering walls of green where every flower did meet. 

With many a goodly vessel in the stream 

At anchor, many a fairy flitting sail 
And stately steamer did its waters teem; 

Anil here was moored some warrior in mail; 

And there, hut late deserted by the gale, 
A great three-master dropt its snowy vans 

To rest beneath yon mountain's purpling vail, 
Wrapt up were all within a crystal trance, 
Where beauty met her glass in all the still expanse. 

An arm of might within its blue domain, 

The armored isle of Alcatraz arose 
Ensanguined where the sunset's crimson stain 

Fell full upon it, out beside its close; 

Fort Point a front as stern did interpose; 
More near Hlack Point stood darkly sentinel, 

And by the three, secure in her repose. 
The city slumbered, while the evening bell 
From deep to deep rang out a peal uf " All is well ! " 

New beauty languished in the air, 

While all the land grew sterner in its might ; 

The deep, so changed, it seemed a god's despair 
Was in its bosom flowing where the light 
Went out and deepening through the infinite. 

An olive tinge on earth and wave and sky; 
Tire rocks and steeps the shores to left and right 

In their own shade themselves did magnify. 

And deeper still the well of waters grew thereby. 

Yet Tamalpais still reared a golden horn 

Above the sloping shadows of Marine, 
And now and then a roseate cloud was born 

Amid the hush of heaven's most pure serene; 

And San Francisco, like a star terrene, 
Still here and there shot forth a smoldering blaze, 

Whilst shone the cross on Calvary o'er the scene, 
Within a shield of separate golden rays 
Upon the dying day — the seal of other days. 

Behind, upon the Contra Costa shore, 

A rock of hills like some low thunder-cloud, 
Above whose region wildness did soar 

The peak of Monte Diablo, sternly proud, 

An eye of might within its snowy shroud; 
The prophet of the wild and sole amid 

The depths of heaven to which it stood avowed, 
Now glimmering beneath the widening lid 
Of Night — on all the wasted star-led pyramid. 

San Hruno on the south, a shadowy range. 

Wrapt up and slumbering in a coil of storms; 
And northward many dragon-brood as strange, 

Titanic and Tartarean in their forms, 

Their ramparts shaken ever with charms 
Of hurrying clouds. About the bay they draw, 

'To cradle her within their mailed arms; 
And in the west, against the parting flow 
Of heaven, the Mission 1 1 ills — three peaks — and eacli an awe ! 

Peace folded up the curtains of the vast, 

And beauty melted to the eye ol love, 
A wraith of cloud. 'The spirit sighed and passed, ' 

In heaven the brooding of a mighty dove, 

On earth the calm and sanctitude thereof; 
And shades of evening wrapt the sea and land, 

And star on star came trembling forth above; 
'The last of light had lied, while here at hand 
Came on the chill pale night and trailed her lethean wand, 



BARON TKNNYSON DT2YNCOURT. 



Nothing, is more significant of the < h;inu* - of public 
sentiment in regard to what is c alled " the nobility ' than 

the manner in which the "elevation" of Mr. Tennyson 

to the peerage has been received. The suggestion was 

heard at first with incredulity and contempt. Then it was 
learned with extreme amazement that the poet did not 

Object to be made a peer. The press of bot h countries 
for in England and America Tennyson is equally honored 

broke out into appeals and deprecations. Caustic 
parodies of Lady Clara Vere de Vere appeared both in 
New York and London. Many of the articles were ex- 
pressions of sincere pain, as if in becoming a lord Tenny- 
son also became a lost leader, and Browning's poem was 
quoted as in some way applicable to his fellow-poet : 

" |ust for a handful of Silver he left us, 
lust for a ribbon to stick in his coat." 

The striking point in the whole excitement was the 
honest gri,f and surprise that a man so famous and 
honored as a-poet should be willing to cover the pure gold 
of his own name with the tawdry gilding of a title. I Is- 
raeli, it was said, the last signal instance of an ennobled 
man of letters, was essentially a charlatan, a ('agliostro, 
besides being a conspicuous politician and Parliamentary 
figure. But Tennyson, the singer of "Locksley Hall,' 



of "Clara Ye re de \ ere." of " In Memoriam," and I 
" Idyls." if he is willing to become a lord, have we not 
Im n mistaken ? Must we not revise our opinion, and ac- 
knowledge thai his song was not sinc ere? 'This was the 
question which the more ardent asked, and which 
revealed the secret of the grieved surprise; and the 
grief and surprise were by no means confined to this 
country, where we may be supposed to be hostile to titles, 
as it were, tx-officio, in virtue of being Americans and 
republicans. 

Of course it was all a matter of sentiment. Nobody, 
probably, honestly believed either that the poet had 
changed or that lie had been always misapprehended; 
that he loved a coronet for its own sake, or that he held 
any less now than forty years ago the truth of his own 
musical and familiar lines: 

" Trust me, Clara Vere de Ycre, 

From yon blue heavens above us bent 
'The grand old gardener and his wife 

Smile at the claims of long descent. 
Howe'er it be, it seems to me 

''l is only noble to be good. 
Kind hearts are more than coronets, 

And simple faith than Norman blood." 

'Those words, indeed, could have been honestly written 
and that faith honestly held by the wearer of a hereditary 
coronet ; and a poet susceptible to the charms of the tra- 
ditions that surv ive in a historic society may have received 
with pleasure the acknowledgment of the coronet and of 
the Norman blood that the singer of the simple faith and 
of the nobility of goodness was quite as good as they, and 
as worthy of the same kind of distinction. 

At least there is no doubt of the sincere wish of the 
( hieen, the fountain of honor, to testify in the most honor- 
able and evident manner her high regard for one of the 
men who will make her reign illustrious in the annals of 
England. A patent of nobility has been always consid- 
ered in England to be the highest official recognition of 
the highest service to the country. 'Titles, indeed, were 
cheap under George the 'Third, and they were often, as 
at the time of the union with Ireland, titles of absolute 
dishonor. Put the c ounterfeit coin does not debase the 
genuine. It was at that very time, or just after, that Nel- 
son went into battle w ith the hope of " a peerage or West- 
minster Abbey." If a seat in the House of Lords has 
been often the mice of scandalous transactions, it has been 
also the reward of the greatest heroism and public ser- 
vice. 

Yet there is no doubt that the refusal of a peerage for 
suc h services has always been in the popular mind as 
agreeable as the acceptance. 'The elder Pitt was " tum- 
bled upstairs" into the House of Lords as the Earl of 
Chatham. His great powers happily overbore his title, 
and he is historically identified with it. But neither Mr. 
Gladstone nor John Bright could accept a peerage with- 
out a distinct loss of popular prestige. 'The acceptance 
would be held to argue culpable disregard of the honor 
which their undet orated names have .acquired. 'This 
feeling is even stronger in the instance of 'Tennyson, be- 
cause the decoration has no relation whatever to the kind 
of distinction which he has achieved. 'There would be- 
an evident incongruity in conferring the order of the Star 
of India upon an eminent superintendent of Sunday 
schools in Scotland. 

'There is a general consciousness of congruity or incon- 
gruity between the nature of the service and the charae ter 
of the reward, which was very happily expressed by Sir 
I [enry 'Taylor. If, he said, a peerage be the fitting pub- 
lic recognition of illustrious services of every kind, it is 
obvious that Wordsworth, the first English poet of the 
century, should have been made a duke as well as 
\\ ellesley, the first English soldier. Everybody, however, 
would have felt the impropriety of conferring a duke dom 
upon Wordsworth, while in the case of Wellesley the ducal 
coronet was as universally felt to be a proper reward. We 
do not assert the justice or injustice of the feeling. But 
if it were unfitting to make a great poet for that reason a 
duke, it will naturally seem to be unfitting that he should 
for the same reason be made a baron. 

Tennyson's title, however, is not without precedent. 

In 1X37, when Lord Melbourne was Prime Minister, Bul- 
wer was made a baronet for his literary distinction, and 
Herschcl for his eminence in sc ience. Bulwer, indeed, 
was already in Parliament, and had written a political 
pamphlet which was very serviceable to the Whigs, but 
fiis baronetcy was a tribute to the author, not to the poli- 
tician. I lis later peerage was the reward of political ser- 
vice, as was that of Macaulay. 'Tennyson's is the most 
signal instance of a purely literary man ennobled solely 
lor literary distinction. Put a peerage make s a man and 
his descendants British legislators for life; and unless he 
has a taste for such pursuits, and disposition to engage in 
them, it is doubtful whether he ought to accept a distinc- 
tion which implies political responsibility. 

Nothing, however, is plainer than that if a man is to be 
made a peer because of Literary genius and fame, Tenny- 
son, of all liv ing Englishmen, is the one to be selected; 

and unless it be assumed that his acceptance involves 

recreant y to principle, and discredits the teachings of his 

life w hich is a preposterous suggestion his acceptance 
is wholly a question of taste. Meanwhile nothing is more 
certain than that it is Alfred Tennyson, not Pa ion Ten- 
nyson d'EyncoUIt, who w ill be known to posterity as one 
ol" the great English poets of the nineteenth century. — 
Harper's Easy Chair. 



" Yes," she said, " Mary c ame near being an old maid. 
You see he r father was a governor, her brother a colonel, 
and her brother-in-law a scientist of note. Being of such 
a distinguished family she had to be very particular who 
she married, and she came biling near not getting any- 
body."- Boston Post. 



It is Mr. Bcecher's opinion that it is a crime to print a 
newspaper in small type. 'There have been some things 
printed in newspapers which we should suppose Mr. 
Beecher would prefer to have in small type,— Boston Post, 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



"HEARTS OF DUST NEVER BREAK." 

— Ingersoll. 



I)V RF.SS1F. LAWRENCE. 



Weep not, my dear ones, when you lay me down 
Under the violets and the daisies white 

That in the happy springtimes long agone 

Have been my treasures and my heart's delight ; 

Hut rather say, " How sweetly will she rest, 

How calmly sleep (life's cares and sorrows o'er), 

The while the daisies on her silent breast 
And violets blue will blossom as before." 

And if ]>erchance, when trees are budding new, 

And softly through their leaves the south winds sigh, 

You hear a murmur like a tender tone 

Amid the rustling boughs, know I am nigh. 

If in the gurgling of the merry brook 

Loosed from its icy chains by breath of spring, 

You hear a happy cadence like a song, 

Twill be the joyous strain I used to sing. 

If you should find, and gather wonderingly, 
Some strange fair flower you ne'er before had known, 

Oh, cherish tenderly the graceful form — 
The life in death of what was once your own. 

And deem me Vilest and happiest to go 

Where sleep is sweet, if I should never wake; 

Where the frail dust that had so weary grown 
New forms of life and loveliness may take. 

For you the tears, the longing and the pain; 

You wearily the life-path still must take; 
To those who sleep, ah, what of joy and rest — 

For hearts of dust can never, never break! 



THE NERVOUS PATIENT. 

T left my carriage at the lodge gate, instead of going in 
and right up to the hall door, as usual. I told my man 
to drive slowly up to Mrs. Smith's, deliver a message which 
I gave him, then return and wait for me. 

This done I entered the grounds, and walked some- 
what wearily up the long winding avenue, for I was 
going to see a case that I had very little pleasure in, and 
that I had never derived much comfort trom attending. 
Had I been in a mood to enjoy the beauties of nature and 
art, I had an excellent opportunity, for both were here com- 
bined to render all the surroundings of Thibet House as 
pleasant and delightful as a poet's dream. 

Thibet House is in the country, though not very far 
removed from the city, and I could very easily appropri- 
ate a column or two of the magazine to a cursory des- 
cription of its gardens, shrubberies, its lawns and rook- 
eries and roseries. This is not my purpose, however. 
Suffice it to say that inside and out there is everything 
about the old place calculated to make one happy and 
contented with the world. 

Alas! though, happiness cometh not from without, but 
from within. I had this truth to learn on that particular 
day, if I had never learned it before. 

Mr. Montgomery was hardly a patient to my liking. 
He was not what one might call a satisfactory patient, 
and I was getting tired of him. I do not think it was 
through any fault of my own that he was not progressing 
favorably. I did all I could for him in the way of advice 
and medicine, but now, at the end of six months, I felt 
that, though he could well enough afford to pay my bills, 
I was taking his money for nothing. 

I had another cause for being somewhat weary and 
discontented to-day: I had been up most of the night, 
and late hours are not conducive to serenity of temper 
during the day that succeeds them. Mr. Montgomery's 
private sitting-room was in the corner of the house, with 
a large French window overlooking the lawn and shrub- 
bery. He was at the window, and saw me coming along 
ana making my way towards the hall door. Perhaps he 
had been watching for me, for he opened the casement 
and ran down the steps to welcome me. 

" Goodness, doctor ! " he exclaimed as we shook 
hands; "you are not walking, are you ? you are surely 
never walking ! " I assured him I was, but admitted 
that my brougham was not a very long way off. 

" Come in, anyhow," he said. " Come in, come in." 

" It is a lovely spring morning," I remarked, lingering 
on the lawn and gazing around me. Some parts of the 
lawn were all ablaze with snowdrops and crocuses, and 
it was quite a treat to see the dewy primroses peeping 
out from under the sheltering rhododendrons and laurels. 

" Yes, it is a fine day ; but come in," he said. " It is 
raw and cold. 

"On the contrary," I replied— for I just felt in the 
mood to contradict him—" it is deliciously mild and 
balmy, and if you feel cold, it is because your blood is 
thin, and not sufficiently aerated. If you went out every 
day and kept yourself out for hours, as I wish you to do, 
you would not find it cold, I can assure you." 

"And that is precisely what I mean to do," he said, 
" as soon as the weather gets a little more settled, and 
these terrible spring winds cease to blow. Come in." 

We entered. He was about to close the window, when 
I said : 

" No, my friend; don't let us banish the ozone. You 
and I both need it, for I've been up all night with a both- 
ering case." 

" Yes," he said; "and you look pale." 

"And you — how do you feel?" 

"Just a little return of my old foe, the ague, last even- 
ing, "but I think I banished that by taking a good night- 
cap, putting my feet in hot mustard and water, and 
having an extra covering on the bed. Feel flying pains 
all over me to-day— rheumatism, I suppose— some slight 
fulness in the head, too, hands hot, and eyeballs tender 
to the light. I hear that fever is about. I sincerely hope 
I'm not not in for anything of that kind, Doctor? " 



" Put out your tongue. Thanks. Let me feel your 
arm." 

"Am I worse?" he asked. " No fever, eh?" 

"Night-cap fever," I replied bluntly. "The flying 
pains you talk about have no existence except in your 
own imagination. That's so, I assure you." 

" Well, I dare say I shouldn't have taken the night- 
cap." 

"No, I am sure you shouldn't have. Far better had 
you gone to bed a couple of hours after the slight but 
solid supper I ordered you, simply taking a bottle of 
seltzer water, with ten or fifteen grains of the bicarbonate 
of soda in it. You would have slept then w ithout tossing 
about." 

My patient had not, to outward appearance, the dia- 
thesis of a nervous man, but he was really so. He was 
not strong-looking, being somewhat pale, out he seldom 
looked anxious, and he was in fairly good condition : 
height about five feet eight, age nearly forty. 

" That is the worst of it," he had more than once told 
me confidentially ; " none of my friends will give me credit 
for being ill." 

He had enjoyed the pleasures of the world to some con- 
siderable extent when a younger man, and had traveled a 
good deal abroad, but had never been really intemperate, 
either in eating or drinking. I know that he would have 
told me of it had he been so, for he keeps no secrets from 
his medical adviser. Put idleness was his besetting sin. 
I do not know that for the six months previous to the day 
on which we had the serious talk which forms the subject 
of this paper he had done anything else but read. He 
reads the newspapers all the forenoon, and books, books, 
books all the remainder of the day, and often, I believe, 
late into the night. 

" Well, doctor," my patient said to-day, "I've taken all 
your medicine, and I don't feel one whit the better." 

"Yes," I replied; "you've taken all my medicine — 
you are very good at taking physic — but had you taken 
my advice as well in other and hygienic matters, I would 
not have been sorry had you thrown the medicine to the 
dogs." 

" Do you say so?" he exclaimed. " Now, I'll tell you 
exactly how I feel " 

I certainly do not mean to plague my readers with a 
detail of my patient's symptoms, real and imaginary. I 
had to listen to them, and did so most patiently, although 
probably a great deal of what he said went in at one ear 
and out at the other. I sat silent for some time after he 
had finished. 

He looked at me somewhat anxiously, then got up and 
walked about the room for a few minutes, and finally re- 
seated himself. 

"You are unusually quiet, doctor," he said at last, in 
an earnest tone of voice. " You don't think there is any- 
thing very serious the matter with me to-day?" 

■'I think the very worst," I said solemnly, and proba- 
bly some might say mischievously, but I had only the 
good intention of thoroughly rousing him ; even if it 
caused him to call in another medical man, 1 felt I should 
not be sorry. 

" Your heart is affected I" 

This was no exaggerated statement, for it is always the 
case in nervousness or in nervous debility that the heart's 
tone is lowered. We physicians call it functional disor- 
der, to distinguish it from actual organic disease. It 
should be remembered that the heart is a muscular organ, 
and as liable to be below or above par as the other mus- 
cles of the body; nor, on the other hand, should it be 
forgotten that if nervousness becomes chronic in any 
patient, the heart itself is liable to become permanently 
affected, and life necessarily much shortened. This only 
shows us that a strenuous effort towards restoration of 
health should be at once made by any one suffering from 
the complaint we are now considering — a complaint which, 
owing to the struggle for existence going on in our midst, 
is -every day becoming more common. A cure, as may 
be gleaned from the conversation that follows, is not to 
be looked for from medicine alone, although tonics and 
alteratives are of great use, but from strict adherence to 
the rules of hygiene, physical and mental. 

" You cannot mean it !" 

" It is my duty to tell you so, and I do mean it." 

Oh, doctor !" he gasped, seizing me by the arm above 
the wrist, with a grip that spoke volumes for the strength 
of his voluntary muscles, at all events — "Oh, doctor^ — 
you — do not mean to say I am — going to — to — to die?" 

" We must all die." 

" Oh ! this is awful ! this is terrible I" he cried. 

He gazed around him in a semi-dazed, bewildered way, 
as if beseeching the very chairs and sofas, and the pic- 
tures on the walls, to step in and save him from the in- 
evitable. 

" I have often," he said slowly, at last — and there were 
sweat-drops on his brow — "I have often said I wished to 
die and be done with it all, to die and be at peace, but I 
did not think it would come so soon, and come thus. 
Say, say you are but joking, doctor!" 

"I never joke," I replied, "on so serious a matter as 
disease. Put I have not said you were soon to die. That 
you are in danger — in real danger — I cannot conceal 
from you. Hope I can, or could, give you, if you would 
but follow my advice. If you do not do so, I would in- 
finitely prefer your calling in another physician, for I can 
do no more to save you.' 

" Do not you give me up, doctor. Your advice has 
always seemed to me so different from that of any one 
else. You make things so plain to me." 

" Do I? Thanks. Put what of it if that advice is not 
taken? Might I not as well talk to the cat there on the 
hearth rug? You have every advantage in life; your ex- 
istence might be a very happy one, if you had— excuse 
me — any method in your madness, if you were not 
entirely a slave to your own feelings, whether real or im- 
aginary — and they are more often the latter than the 
former. There are tens of thousands in these islands 
suffering from nervousness, with functional disease of the 
heart, that have not half the chances of getting well that 
you have, although there is really no case that ever I met 



with that cannot be either cured oralleviated by attention 
to diet, avoidance of stimulants, the daily use of bath and 
frict ion with rough towels and flesh-brush, unlimited ex- 
ercise in the open air, whether the weather be wet or dry, 
cold or hot, and pleasant society. Mixing with pleasant 
society is one of the very best means for the cure of ner- 
vousness. It takes one for the time being quite out of 
one's self, quite away from one's troubles and aches. It 
must, however, never be exciting society, for this sends 
the blood to the head, and injures the very foundation of 
nerve power. What do you tell me? You never take 
stimulants to excess? I doubt it; for tea, if too much in- 
dulged in, is a dangerous stimulant, and so is coffee. A 
cup of milk that has been boiled and allowed to cool 
would often do far more good than tea. Tea-drinking 
grows on one, and assuredly, when it does so, it shatters the 
nerves as irremediably as does wine, or even spirits." 

Reader, a week after I had the above talk with my 
nervous patient I had the satisfaction of seeing him out 
of doors, working in his garden ; a month after this he 
was in every way a new man ; and a still greater treat was 
in store for me, for in less than six months more I had 
the extreme satisfaction of being a kindly welcomed guest 
at his wedding. — Casse/l's Family Magazine. 



It is not at all improbable that the Herr Lasker resolu- 
tions may involve the United States and Germany in war. 
The cause of the trouble seems insignificant. A dis- 
tinguished member of the Reichstag dies while visiting 
this country, and Congress sends the remains back to 
Germany ticketed with some resolutions of condolence 
and approval of the dead statesman's political course. 
It happens, however, that the course so approved has 
always been in opposition to Pismarck's policy; and so 
the autocratic Chancellor flatly refuses to communicate 
the resalutions to the Reichstag, and returns them to 
Congress, as declined with thanks. The apparent insig- 
nificance of all this is no measure of the im])ortance to 
which it may grow. Wars that have overthrown dynas- 
ties and blotted out empires have sprung from more trivial 
circumstances. It is a misunderstanding which diplomacy 
could explain away without effort, if there were a mutual 
disposition to do so; but while diplomacy can remove 
mountains if cordiality exist, it cannot remove a mole- 
hill if there be obstinacy on both sides. In this case both 
of the high contending parties are likely to prove obsti- 
nate. Pismarck has grown insolently imperious ; he does 
not like America, and he will not brook the implied cen- 
sure of his policy. All considerations of dignity aside, 
Congress w ill not receive this snub complacently, irritated 
as it already is by the exclusion of American products 
from Germany, and seeing an opportunity in withstanding 
Pismarck to enlist the Liberal sympathy not of Germany 
alone but of the world. 



A VILLAIN FOILED. 



In the Sunday Chronicle there appeared a detailed 
account of Mr. H. J. Casey's exploit with a footpad, on 
the corner of Taylor and O'Farrell streets, while returning 
home about three o'clock Saturday morning. 

It appears that as he was sauntering home, utterly 
oblivious to the fact that any one had designs upon his 
valuable cargo of " money and jewelry," he was suddenly 
accosted by an Unknown, who demanded his valu- 
ables. Mr. Casey refused to comply and a scuffle 
ensued, in which Mr. Casey won the fall (no time given), 
and the would-be robber made his escape. 

We are sorry to learn that footpads are still plying their 
vocation in our midst. We had hoped that the new cir- 
cuit of electric lights recently established in the Western 
Addition would enable the citizens of that part of town 
to meander peacefully or beerfully home nights without 
having to wait until the sun rises, or of being relieved of 
their jewelry by any other than Uncle Harris. 

F'ortunately, however, in this instance the enterprising 
pad was foiled. In just what manner he was foiled we 
are not informed, but as Mr. Casey's stock of " valuables 
and jewelry" generally consists of a mustache-comb 
and a package of fine-cut tobacco, we imagine he must 
have been tin-foiled. 

Algernon De V. — "Horrors! I recognized that man 
on the street, and I see now that he does not belong to 
our set." 

Alphonzo La P. — " How did you discovor that?" 
Algernon De V. — " I noticed him going into a bar- 
room." 

Alphonzo La P. — " Do none of your set ever enter a 
public bar-room?" 

Algernon De V. — " Never. We always go the drug- 
stores. — Philadelphia Coll. 

We are told, nothing was made in vain ; but how about 
the fashionable girl? Isn't she maiden vain? — Salem Sun- 
beam. 

Matrimony is said to be a lottery, but up to the hour 
of going to press no law has been enacted prohibiting the 
use of the males. — Deuel Advocate. 

Dar's two men whut yer kain' argy wid 'bout wimmin. 
One whut's fixin' ter git married, and one whut's been 
married fur some time. 

When a doctor takes exercise by walking, it is for the 
health of some other man; never for his own.— New 
Orleans Picayune. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THE STAGE. 



Success always stirs up a certain amount of 
antagonism. The way to popularity with the 
mass of humanity is to give somebody the devil. 
Critics fjnd this an unfading rule. I have never 
written a paragraph against an actor or a singer 
sufficiently biting that has not met with a good 
deal of attention. I have never written a favor- 
able article about anybody that I have not been 
supposed to be specially interested. That hon- 
esty is the best policy, is excellent and familiw 
advice. But nobody has really much respect for 
an honest man. People profess to despise a dis- 
honest man. As a fact, nobody cares a cent for 
anybody but himself. Altogether, a critic's po- 
sition is not so enviable as is generally sup- 
posed. Managers are civil and polite; some- 
times effusively so. Actors arc respectful and 
friendly, and generally extravagantly so. Ac- 
tresses hold the critic in peculiar regard. They 
do not look upon him as a serious, intellectual 
being. Perhaps they are right, very often. They 
will feel more deeply offended by,his saying that 
they were badly dressed or that they did not 
look well than by his saying that they acted badly. 
Few women ever try really to act. They only 
want to make an impressive effect. As a rule 
they only act when they have some important 
situation in the play. Otherwise they devote 
their attention to mental analysis of their per- 
sonal appearance. Actors and actresses never 
read the papers, not after they ha%-c had one ad- 
verse notice. But the atmospheric permeation, 
which is very subtle around a theater, saturates 
them very quickly with the criticism of the play 
and their acting. They "believe" that some- 
body said they could not act. They know when 
anybody says they can. It is not safe to write a 
favorable notice of an actor. I have in my mind 
now a man who came out to San Francisco. He 
came very quietly and modestly, and he did not 
even attempt to meet the critics. He went 
about his business, and when he played he was 
surprised to find an almost unanimous chorus of 
praise. He went on playing and the critics 
went on praising. He began to believe that 
they were telling the truth. He did not thank 
them, he said, because they were bound to write 
what they thought, and if that was favorable so 
much the better for him. He grew careless, and 
one morning he was mildly admonished. He 
kicked. He was angry. The critics were fools 
and asses, and did not know their business. 
They were not honest. He would argue every 
point and show that really what they were abus- 
ing was a brilliant performance. What right 
had an irresponsible reporter to speak of him, a 
student and an actor? And more to the same 
effect. The critics did not reply. They ceased 
to give him the prominence he had had. The 
public were beginning to lose interest in him. He 
was more angry still. A critic had no right to 
neglect his duty. It was the critic's duty to the 
public to sit out every one of his well-known 
performances and write about them. And so 
for the men who had spread, if they did not 
make, his reputation he had nothing but abuse. 



Between the public and the actors and man- 
agers, the critics have a hard time. It needs a 
great deal of courage to write an opinion that 
may result in serious monetary loss to the thea- 
ter and inflict a severe wound on a sensitive man 
or woman. If one only writes praise, the public 
simply impute to him all sorts of motives and 
rewards. The hardest thing in the world is to 
get any credit for honesty, more especially in 
this business. Managers hate critics, and yet if 
the vote were taken all over America the im- 
mense majority would be in favor of retaining 
them. They only care for space, ''"hey will 
bear a column of abuse, and be perfectly happy 
over a quarter of a column of praise. But five 
lines will make them mad, and to leave them out 
altogether will drive them crazy. Every men- 
tion, especially of any length, is an advertise- 
ment, and most managers are rather pleased when 
a critic gets angry and gives them a noticeable 
amount of violent attack. Actors measure lines 
too. Even praise will not satisfy them if one 
man gets two lines more than another. They 
will quarrel over an adjective and gently hint to 
the critic that it would have been better if an 
adverb had been added. I once wrote a laudatory 
notice of a certain actor's performance. He 
sent me a note of thanks. He insisted upon 
my making an appointment with him, and when 
he got me all to himself he bored me for four 
hours with an elaborated statement of how great 
an actor he was, gave me his repertory, his 
finest characters, and went through scenes to 
illustrate the superb brilliancy of his genius. A 
few days later I had occasion to condemn some- 
thing he did, and he never spoke to me except 
with an ill-concealed ill-will afterward. But the 
most trying of all people the critic has to deal 
with are the advance agents. As a rule, the ad- 
vance agent is a man who knows nothing about 
a company except what he reads in the man- 
agerial advertisements. Theatrically, he is 
born in a bill-poster's, cradled in a job-printing 
office, and brought up on the favorable and ex- 
travagant adjectives of the English language in 
flaming ink. His general theory is that the 
newspaper is printed to puff his show. He has 
a profound idea that nobody except the man 
who pays his wages is a greater benefactor than 
he. He is ignorant of the existence of mind. 



To him there is nothing but matter. He is 
generally vulgarly aggressive, always illiterate, 
and he looks upon the printed extract from the 
Oskosh Banner as of equal value with the New 
York Tribune. He recognizes words, and these 
by their size. He does not know the English 
language, having for the most part spent his 
early life in hanging around the theaters or 
sometimes newspaper offices, carrying messages. 
He always wants to treat, and feels that a critic 
who will not accept his whisky is above his 
business. A pass to his show is more than re- 
muneration for the greatest service. He only 
knows, like a parrot, what he has to tell, and 
always quotes the billboard. He has invariably 
a stock of stories of incidents that happened to 
his star or his show, to illustrate the high esteem 
in which he or it has been held elsewhere. If the 
papers speak well of it, his management is re- 
sponsible; if the critics condemn it, they are 
ungrateful. As a question of reference, I have 
never known a newspaper critic who was not ac- 
cused of having been bribed or of being bribe- 
able. As a fact, I never knew of my own 
knowledge one on any reputable San Francisco 
paper who was. A critic has always a leaning 
in favor of the theaters. When there arc good 
audiences his work is much more enjoyable than 
when houses are empty. I hold that the critic's 
duty is to the public, but that he is as much 
bound to give the manager and actor credit for 
good work as to condemn imposture and false 
pretence. 

There has practically been nothing but the 
opera in town this week. Something phenom- 
enal is the hold it seems to have taken on the 
public. San Francisco has been, to tell the truth, 
music hungry. Strangely enough this great 
rush for music comes after the Tivoli has been 
producing opera for four years incessantly, and 
we have had several rivals to that popular place 
of amusement. As a general rule some claptrap 
has always been traceable in such successes as 
this. People are given now to saying that the 
management of Abbott has been brilliant and 
very effective. True, Emma Abbott has been 
well advertised; and, although the notices of 
the operas in the daily papers have been free 
from any gush so far as the criticisms have been 
concerned, the newspapers have helped the thing 
very considerably. I can, for myself, only see 
management that has been remarkably clear- 
headed. Otherwise the Abbott Company have 
come at a time when the public were quite ready 
for them. The main strength of the boom has 
been in the much-talked-of fashionable tone 
given to the occasion. Nobody has claimed for 
Abbott any of the wonderful qualities which 
have been advertised as in her possession. No- 
body has found a great voice in the organization. 
But people have felt an additional pleasure in 
going to the theater — a new feeling that is due 
to the taste for and admiration of finery. I see 
Mr. Wetherill, who owns the company, seated 
close to the stage at every performance. I no- 
tice that every night he keeps his eyes closely 
upon the company; and I am told that when I 
see him going behind the scenes he is going to 
correct some little fault committed during the 
performance. He never permits anybody in the 
cast to forget that he or she is paid to sing and 
do the work of the opera, and in that little fact 
lies the success of the performances of the Abbott 
Opera Company. Management is everything; 
and whatever may be the variety of the opinions 
as to the relative merits of the singers, at least 
one thing is certain, that each docs his or her 
work with a will, and that is half the satisfac- 
tion of the audience. 

When one stops to think what an enormous 
amount of work there must have been connected 
with the arrangement of an organization which 
has some twenty operas in its repertory and 
carries costumes and accessories for ten, it is 
certainly something that the company is to be 
congratulated upon. The details, musically, 
are astonishing; the completeness with which 
everything is done cannot be overlooked ; and 
if good work deserves pay, even the successful 
engagement at the Baldwin will not be anything 
like as high remuneration as Abbey got for 
bringing us Christine Nilsson in a few concerts. 

I understand now why Madame Sinico was 
kept back. I must confess I thought at first it 
was to strengthen the last weeks of the season. 
I heard her on Sunday nighUn " Faust," and I 
find it is simply because there does not seem to 
be any opera in which she could be as agreeable 
to the San Francisco audience as the other prima 
donnas. There is something strange in her 
reputation. I presume that some years ago her 
voice was brilliant, but it has certain character- 
istics that must have made it unpleasant, even 
when it was at its best. It is pier*cing, with a 
sharpness that takes all the tone out of it. It is 
oppressive and hard. It has been trained in a 
good school, and in many respects Madame 
Sinico is an artiste. But if there was one part 
in which she should not have made her first ap- 
pearance, it was Marguerite. The exquisite 
character was not physically represented, and 
only a very exceptionally sympathetic voice 
could have made up for 'that. But there was 
not a note of Marguerite's music that found 
its value in her delivery, and such a cold and 
hard combination would have rendered it advis- 
able to have removed the opera from the com- 
pany's repertory, had it not been better given 
before. 



I am afraid that Signor Baldanza did himself 
a great deal of harm with his admirers in his 
Faust. At the California an unfortunate con- 
dition was supposed to be responsible for a bad 
performance. But Sunday night's effort showed 
that Baldanza is an Italian tenor pure and sim- 
ple, and only a Verdi tenor at that. For this I 
do not quarrel with Signor Baldanza. I would 
no more expect him to sing Faust than I would 
look for a gieat performance of Don Cxsar de 
Bazan from him. In engaging Baldanza and 
Zeppilli the Abbott Company gave a proof to 
the public that they did not propose to sacrifice 
the season for the sake of saving two salaries. 
So far Baldanza has twofgood parts, Poliuto and 
Manrico. I hardly give him Edgardo, although 
he sings that better than any other of the tenors 
could. Zeppilli has a very charming voice. It 
lacks expression and force, but is a clear full 
voice, almost without a flaw. 

There is a great deal of interest in the coming 
week. We arc to have two new operas. " Paul 
and Virginia," an adaptation of the well-known 
pretty story, is described as a love lyric. It is 
the work of Victor Masse, and raised that com- 
poser into fame. The subject lends itself to 
operatic treatment, and it is said that the music 
is exquisitely appropriate and charming. The 
other is " Romeo and Juliet," Gounod's work. 
We can hardly fancy any opera on this subject 
lacking attractive interest, and by Gounod it 
seems a certainty that it must have many charm- 
ing numbers. It is not one of his successful 
ones. But San Francisco is strangely fond of 
the old Veronese story, and it would be none the 
less delightful rendered to Gounod's music. 



If there is gloom around the Grand Opera 
House and the California theater, it is due to 
mismanagement. It has still been Bert's weak- 
ness to try to run second-class shows in first- 
class theaters or first-class shows in second- 
class theaters. He is one of those managers 
who cannot bear to see a theater empty, and who 
alienate the public by bothering them with nu- 
merous opportunities to see very poor perform- 
ances. He runs the California at the regular 
prices; he competes against himself at the 
Grand Opera House at popular prices, and he is 
trying to carry on an Oakland theater at twenty- 
five cents. There has grown in the public mind 
a distrust of the California. People were kept 
away from it by a series of the worst per- 
formances ever seen in snaps that were simply 
pitchforked on to the stage. Then followed a 
cheap traveling company in cheaper melodrama. 
Some of the best people wanted to encourage 
Sheridan, but the performances have had too 
much of the training school for amateurs about 
them all through, and so the public, finding 
warmth and comfort and good entertainment at 
the Baldwin, have thrown the key of the entire 
theatrical position into Hayman's hands. With 
the start Hayman has, a little judicious man- 
agement will make his theater worth a very 
handsome profit to him in the coming season. 
Strangely enough the better class of people seem 
to ignore the Grand. There is always some 
audience there, but it looks thin and uncomfort- 
able, and even Jeffreys-Lewis, playing with the 
same people she had at the Baldwin, cannot give 
a performance that looks worth a dollar and a 
half, or even seventy-five cents. It will be a 
good thing, perhaps, if we have one first-class 
theater, and encourage it so that we may always 
rely upon an entertainment worth seeing. 

Sheridan is fighting against heavy odds in 
this engagement, and they are telling upon him. 
With the entire stage management on his 
shoulders, with unpaid actors around him and 
all sorts of stories being carried around town by 
people who have been in the company, he feels 
very much depressed. He shows it. His per- 
formance of Richelieu is far below his standard. 
It is hesitating, uncertain, careless and spas- 
modic. He plays nothing but a weary Sheri- 
dan, with an occasional burst of melodramatic 
force that becomes rant from the effort necessary 
to call it forth. Saving Mr. Thayer's Joseph, 
and possibly Mainhall's Francois, there is little 
that is not blaineable in the cast. Minnie Young 
docs the little bit of Marion de Lorme with 
promise. But Mr. Aveling is not an ideal De 
Mauprat, Clifton is a very pusillanimous Barra- 
das, Simms plays De Bcringhcn like a page boy 
in a farce, and I am aweary of Miss Davenport's 
tearful simper Ncilson face and colorless emo- 
tion in Julie. Sheridan is not to be judged by 
his performances during this engagement. He 
has played all the parts before with infinitely 
greater effect . 

I am rather sorry for Katie Putnam. Why, I 
don't know. The management of the Bush- 
street informs me that she makes money in small 
towns and generally that she is well off. She 
ought to be. If she pays that company any 
serious amount of money for its services she is 
foolish. She is herself a clever actress. True, 
she has got into the ways of hayseed and rural 
indifference. She has her ideas pretty cleverly 
defined, and she has many clever little ways 
about her. There is a good deal of naturalness 
in her acting. She has all the eccentricities of 
Lotta, without Lotta's magnetism. She is not 
abad Fanchon. But it is hard to hear such agen- 
erally cheap performance for the sake of a little 
bit of decent clever acting. I have not seen her 
new piece yet, so cannot write about it. 



Mr. Leavitt's Specialty Company is conii 
If it is a cleanly and unaggressive rombinati. 
it may make a lot of money. But the public 
has grown distrustful of specialty companies, and 
some novelty will be demanded. The Bush- 
street Theater has a distinct function in light 
and entertaining combinations, and Mr. Leavitt 
should bring them on as fast as he can. He is 
bound to have "Pop" here, so lam told. He 
had better stop and think well before he does. 
It has no chance of success at present, and even 
with Kate Castleton I doubt if the dudes are 
not likely to give it a cold shoulder. 

"Won at Last," I thought when I saw it at 
the Baldwin, a good play. Now, as I see it at 
the Grand, I don't think so. It has a nice 
square-and-compass construction — even doses of 
comedy and emotion, with several hackneyed 
figures and a staggering quantity of proverbial 
philosophy. The later French plays have ruined 
my taste for tame dramas written by a foot rule 
measurement of human life, and I am sick unto 
death of the "Fitzgiggle woman" kind of 
comedy. Miss Young plays well, and I am not 
reflecting upon her. I am reflecting on Steele 
Mackaye, a gentleman who, having failed as a 
playwright, has invented a theater chair out of 
which I hope he will make money. Still " Won 
at Last " is an old piece, and possibly he thinks 
as I do about it now. I am sorry to see 
Jeffreys-Lewis, after playing such a pleasant en- 
gagement at the Baldwin, sink herself out of 
public sight and even remembrance. The houses 
are light, but she docs her best, just as if they 
were crowded. And she is a great actress. 

The minstrels go on much as usual. The bill 
has had no particular feature in it, but people 
go to the minstrels as much from habit as any- 
thing else. I hear that a local journalist, who 
has not yet placed his big foot on the stage, will 
come out as an author in a wild burlesque which 
Reed is fixing up for presentation soon. Those 
who have seen it say it is remarkably funny. 

Nathal sits in dignified grandeur as Maplcson's 
agent in Bert's office. Before him lie stacks of 
tickets, bundles of newspaper notices, piles of 
telegrams, and the usual pads of scribbling 
paper. He has caught the aplomb of Her 
Majesty's opera, and he smiles contemptuously 
when any one says Abbott to him. He calmly 
and grandiloquently announces that Gerster 
and the company arc coming; that Patti is not 
coming. Patti frantically calls from St. Louis, 
"I am coming! I want to come! Mapleson 
won't let me!" And the New York papers deliber- 
ately state that Gerster is not coming. In the 
meantime, Mr. Nathal maintains discreet silence 
about Patti, and calmly asks for subscriptions 
for the season of eight performances. Gerster is 
to sing in six. Are we to be supposed to pay 
$5 a seat for Mademoiselle Doftl? I admire 
Mapleson for his great career. He has drawn 
more money out ofopera patrons than any com- 
bination of opera management since the times 
of ancient Greece. He has induced wealthy 
people to pay losses on providing music for 
people who could alford to pav higher prices of 
admission if they wanted to. He has not spread 
the taste for music, the public benefit in opera. 
He has maintained prima donnas on a scale of 
luxurious splendor, and raised innumerable 
tenors from the cab-rank and the kitchen to 
castles, and palaces, and high social favor. He 
never gave a complete opera performance any- 
where in his life. But we want to hear Gerster 
and Patti, and I suppose we must pay for the 
enjoyment of phenomena. Are we to nave the 
chance? Volage. 



AN OLD FRIEND RECOGNIZED. 

It is simply marvellous to what an age some 
old jokes arrive, and how multifarious the guises 
in which they reappear to remind us that we, 
like themselves, arc getting along in years. For 
example, in the March number of Harper's 
Magazine we find the following old friend : 

Shortly before the war a young man of means • 
who lived in upper Georgia became filled with 
the idea that he must travel; so he went to 
Savannah. I lere he met a party of friends goinc 
to Florida, with whom he took shipping, and 
after spending a day or so in Jacksonville he re- 
turned to Georgia and his native village. 

Here he assumed all the airs of a man bored 
with the world, astonished the simple folks 
about him with his wide-spread experience of 
everything, but especially of the sea. He still 
more impressed his near neighbors for several 
nights after his return with the latter part of 
his new-acquired knowledge by making his body 
servant throw bucket alter bucket of water 
against that side of the house upon which his 
room was situated, and whenever the water- 
throwing became less energetic, calling in a voice 
loud enough to be heard across the road and for 
a couple of blocks down and up the street, "A 
little more tempest nous, Pompey; a little more 

tempestuous." Whereupon Pompey would 
empty his pail with still more violence against 
the house and the window of his master's room. 
He explained to those of his neighbors who 
were anxious to know what he meant, by keep- 
ing them awake all night that he had become so 
used to the dashing of the waves against the 
ship's side that be could not sleep until he had 
recourse to Vompey and the water-pail. 

There is the pervcrhial witicism about the re- 
tired sea captain who had to be rocked to sleep 
in a bath tub, and we mention its reappearance 
for two reasons. The first is that it passes our 
understanding how such a publication as Har- 
per's can persistently indulge in such reprehen- 
sible resurrection. The second reason is that 
we thought Billy Emerson had the honor of 
owning tlie most venerable story in the world — 
that of the steamboat explosion. We change 
our opinion, and award the museum to our bril- 
liant New York contemporary. 



1 \ 



THK SAN FRANCISCAN. 



ENTOMOLOGY VS. KNIFE-SWALLOWING. 



Why (he -A-phis Convolvulus Conlrolx the 
" Bulletin." 

The public have lately been much troubled by a re- 
markable and to them inexplicable change in the editorial 
expressions of the Bulletin. For weeks past Mr. Fitch's 
evening newspaper has altogether ignored the rain gauge, 
while dajly exalting to special notice the wonders of hor- 
ticulture and entomology. Heaven only knows how long 
this mysterious change of politics might have continued 
to L>e unexplained, if The San Franciscan had not dropped 
into a well known Merchant -street restaurant the other 
day and observed the manner in which the Bulletin^ 
editorials are written. Every day the brains of Mr. 
Fitch's evening pa per are congregated in this manner round 
the tunc h-board : 




The old gentleman at the head of the table is Dr. 
Bartlett, chief editorial writer of the Bulletin and author 
of " Echoes from the Saw factories," " Breezes from 
Butchertown," " Etchings in a Tannery," and other well- 
known text-books highly recommended by the Insanity 
Commissioners. The deadly weapon on which the Doctor 
appears to be chewing is, not as might seem at first sight, 
a Bologna sausage. The supposititious decimator of Teu- 
tonic majorities is really the eminent 1 loctor's knife, which 
he is masticating with the keen relish so characteristic of 
a cultivated taste. This practice, always highly fashion- 
able in San Francisco and Berkeley, has become doubly 
in vogue since the rise in beef and the substitution of cel- 
luloid for the old-fashioned horn and bone knife-handles. 
The new article has all the piquant flavor and lasting 
dietetic qualities of the older brands, while its nutritive 
properties are far ahead. Some scientists assert that the 
elastic tendencies of dissolved celluloid are highly bene- 
ficial to brain-workers, and from this some admirers claim 
to have observed an unusual limberness and elasticity ol 
thought, so to s[>eak, in Dr. Hartlett's latest writings; 
that whereas none of his ideas formerly ventured be- 
yond Berkeley, several of them have recently staggered as 
far as San Leandro. This, however, is digressive. To 
return to our mutton. The sheep on the I loctor's right— 
we beg pardon — the gentleman who sits next the Doctor 
is the accomplished advertising solicitor of the Bulletin. 
Although proudly conscious of his immense financial 
superiority to the other members of the party, he esteems 
it an honor to sit once a day where he can keep tally of 
the cutlery as it departs to stimulate the editorial depart- 
ment of his journal. The art critic will not fail to notice 
the look of somber thoughtfulness that overspreads the 
solicitor's face and suggests the awful possibility that his 
knife has gone down the wrong passage, or that the party 
expects him to foot the bill. 

Mr. Vale is the estimable solicitor's name, and, though 
not boastfully a pious man, he is unmistakably a very 
close relative to the "vale of tears" so prominently 
mentioned in the scriptures. He is also very close to the 
door, which we have faintly outlined, and but for this cir- 
cumstance might bear a more striking resemblance to his 
lachrymose relative. The disarrangement of his hair and 
its noticeable sparseness are not due to the ordinary 
causes, nor to Vale being a bachelor. The hirsute peculiar- 
ity is but an illustration of the devotion of the party to its 
distinguished chief, whom they imitate, even to the gross 
and cruel libel on all Berkeley barbers contained in the 
Doctor's top-knot — that is to say, the majority do so. 
The rule would not be proved without an exception, and 
Mr. Rexford is the odd one. Mr. Rexford is the gentle- 
man whose high forehead balances the left hand corner of 
the picture and offsets the intellectual wealth of ear dis- 
played by the young man on the right. Mr. Rexford is 
the business manager of the. Bulletin, a position which 
develops the prudential, cautious and economical trails 
to a remarkable degree. This can be seen from the fact 
that Mr. Rexford, unlike his thoughtless Bohemian 
friends, did not swallow his knife with the fish, but has 
prudently saved it to flavor the desert with. Such inci- 
dents as this, more than anything else, show the inestimable 
advantages of a sound business education. If it were 
possible to see Mr. Rexford's left hand — and we say this 
not because we have any notion that it would require a 

Microscope for the observation — his fist would be found 
Lightly clenched. If he could open it without pushing 



his companion on the other side of the table out of sight, 
a fine specimen of the aphis convolvulus would meet the 
eye. The aphis eonvolrulus is a new species of gilt-edged 
potato-bug, peculiar to the flower-gardens of the aristoc- 
racy, and possessing such a delicate sense of social pro- 
priety that he dies if taken south of Market street. Mr. 
Rexford is the happy discoverer of this insect, which we 
may state was not known to exist until the Donahue- Wal- 
lace alliance had cleared the air of the Western Addition 
of the last trace of plebeian taint. 

A lively bug, large or small, however classical his name, 
is not a pleasant thing to hold. Mr. Rexford, however, 
would rather hold the wriggling insect than a twenty-dol- 
lar piece— and we can't say thai we should quarrel with 
him if the case were ours. This, however, is purely 
hypothetical, or something else. We have endeavored to 
catch the intense expression of Mr. Rexford as he holds 
forth while Mr. Bartlett is sharpening the edge of his Bir- 
mingham blade. It is an unwritten law of their Lunch 
Club that when the eminent lierkcleyan is packing his in- 
terior with cutlery or any thing that comes handy to his 
appetite, Mr. Rexford shall continue the contributions to 
the Bulletin. The young man who is writing at the foot 
of the table is an expert stenographer, Specially retained 
to preserve every crumb of thought and sweep it into his 
note-book as it falls from the lips of the two thinkers of 
the Club. The stenographer is not connected by blood, 
religion or salary with the Bulletin, both Mr. Rexford and 
Mr. Bartlett preferring that an entirely disinterested out- 
sider should report their conversations, and thus do them- 
selves and the public full justice. During the years ol 
his service that have passed the diligent reporter has never 
heard a sentence drop from the lips of the other members 
of the club, and it will only be by the ]jcrusal of this 
article that he w ill learn his mistake in regarding them as 
pupils of the Berkeley Deaf, and Dumb Asylum taking 
lessons in articulation from their eminent tow nsman, the 
Doctor. Every day, afler lunch, the re|>orter transcribes 
his notes on an endless roll of paper, which is kept on a 
windlass in the basement of the Bulletin. When matter 
for the edification of the public is needed, the I loclor sig- 
nals one of the pressmen in the depths beneath, and hav- 
ing been given a grip on the intellectual cable, clips off 
enough to satiate the printers and satisfy the moral long- 
ings of the community. At the moment w hen our pencil 
caught Mr. Rexford's expression, he was filling the re|>or- 
torial note-book with a description of the death of an 
aphis eonvolrulus who was raised in the cabbage-garden 
of a Bulletin subscriber, and transferred, at the dead of 
night, to a rose-bush of a Call constituent. Notwithstand- 
ing the great improvement in the esthetic conditions of 
the animal's life, he began to fail immediately, and when 
morning dawned and showed him the rear of a Tehama- 
street grocery store lowering over his aromatic bed, he 
turned over on his back and expired in the most excru- 
ciating agony. 

The young man who is rising uneasily from his chair, as 
if his knife were beginning to tickle his diaphragm, is one 
of the celebrated new s-gatherers of the Bulletin, and like 
the other attaches present, is looking eagerly to Dr. Bart- 
lett for a corroboration or contradiction of Mr. Rexford's 
startling information. The Doctor, however, is deriving 
too much enjoyment from the succulent blade between 
his teeth to interest himself in the fate of any animal who 
could allow himself to be raiseil in San Francisco when 
Berkeley real estate is selling at a sacrifice. And so the 
stenographer drives his pencil along, to keep company 
with the flow of Mr. Rexford's fountain of scientific knowl- 
edge, and Mr. F.vans, the pale-faced city editor next to 
the young reporter with the Eighth-ward pantaloons, set- 
tles into a deep-seated melancholy, which he w ill transfer 
to the landlord as he passes out without Sloping to use the 
wisp broom. The least critical observer of our future can 
detect at a glance the naval predilections of both Mr. 
Evans and his companion from the news-room. Both are 
prominent member of the San Francisco Vacht Club, but 
Mr. Evans modestly contents himself w ith assuming only 
that serious and thoughtful air that settles on himself and 
his mates whenever they venture on the deep beyond the 
forty-fifth parallel, the naval appellation for the oyster-bed 
fence forty-five yards beyond the club landing. Mr. 
Evans 1 companion, however, has assumed the full club 
costume, even to the flying jib, which serves for his lar- 
board ear, and the main topsail that balances it on the 
weather or windy side — which just now is Mr. Rexford. 
Parenthetically it may he remarked that it was through 
this slavish subserviency to club fashion that the Bulletin 
lost its valuable corresponent, Mr. Worley, who had the 
unhappy British knack of shouting "'ere, 'ere," whenever 
he meant to applaud anything in the editorial room, and 
thus unintentionally hurt many hearts and engendered 
animosities that could not be healed or removed by mere 
apology. And this completes the picture which The San 
Franciscan sketched in that Merchant-street restaurant, 
and which at once explained the late domination of the 
insect kingdom over the rain-gauge and Berkeley real es- 
tate. The change, it has been show n, is not due to any 
fear entertained by Mr. Fitch that he is about to sprout 
wings: it is merely the result of Mr. Rexford's enthusias- 
tic devotion to the aphis convolvulus, Dr. Bartlett's incur- 
able weakness for Birmingham cutlery, and the Lunch 
Club stenographer's faithful attention to the important 
duties of his office. 



A DEFENSE OF AARON BURR. 



BY BONN PIATT. 



I heard the Hon. D. T. Wright deliver a lecture before 
the Lincoln Club of Cincinnati on the life, times and 
character of Aaron Burr. 

It was a surprise to me, and some disgust, to hear the 
Hon. D. T. drop into the Vulgar and commonplace view 
of a man whoJs as little known as if he had never lived. 
I expected beffer things, for Judge Wright is a man of ac- 
knowledged abilities and rare attainments. His training 
for the bar, at the head of which he stands in ( )hio, and 
which training made him so marked in handling the evi- 
dence and treating the case of Fitz-John Porter as to give 
him a national reputation, led me to believe that he would 
give us the truth in reference to Burr. 

Aaron Burr is, and I suppose w ill continue for centuries 
to come, a popular superstition. It is a part of our human 
nature to deck one shrine with flowers, w hile pelting some 
grave with stones. A god necessitates a devil, and we 
prove our detestation of one in our abuse, as we prove 
through flattery our devotion to the other. It is our reli- 
gion to lie in both directions. Having given our god a 
halo, we present our devil w ith horns, hoofs and a tail. 

Through this idiotic |>olicy we have made Alexander 
Hamilton our national saint and Aaron Burr our national 
sinner. And the impartial student searches in vain for 
evidence to sustain the one or the other. 

Of course it is historical. History is the crystalization 
of popular beliefs. As a plausible fiction is more popular 
than the simple fact, one really sees what little chance 
truth has for recognition. The historian shapes his wares 
to suit his market, like any other dealer whose success de- 
pends upon catering to the tastes of his customers. 

One 1 (avis published the life and letters of Aaron Burr, 
and to insure a sale claimed to have destroyed a cartload 
of love-letters, locks of hair and souvenirs that would 
have destroyed the peace of reputable families and the 
reputations of prominent women. 

Parton followed in a pleasant fiction, in which, without 
even the damaging love tokens, he [taints Burr as black as 
the devil is supposed to be. 

Yet there are but two events on which all this obloquy 
and abuse are based. One is the killing of Hamilton, 
the other his claimed treason against the government. 

Of the last Judge Wright says there was not a particle 
of ev idence to sustain the indictment, and Burr went hon- 
orably acquit. 

All that is left then is the duel. In this Hamilton was 
clearly the aggressor. He made the political contest be- 
tween himself and his troublesome op|>oncnt a personal 
fight, got challenged, as was the practice of the day, ac- 
cepted, went out to kill, and got killed. That is all there- 
is in that, and over that has grown this sickly sentimen- 
tality that makes Hamilton the martyr and Burr the fiend. 

It is all bosh. There was nothing unfair about the 
duel, and had Hamilton killed Burr, as he intended, the 
duel would have passed without other comment than 
such as a growing dislike to such contests Would have 
called out. 

This is all on the debtor side of life's ledger charged 
against this man. Now let us look to the other. 

He was a gallant soldier, a patriotic citizen, a tender 
husband, and a singularly affectionate father. Up to the 
time he killed Hamilton he Stood to the front as a leading 
and able statesman of the republic he Helped to build. 
So popular was he that he occupied the chair of Vice- 
President, with the popular belief that the next election 
would make him Chief Executive. 

There was a cry of horror went up from the Federal 
party over the fact that Hamilton fell, instead of their 
enemy, Aaron Burr. 

At that time the line between the aristocratic organiza- 
tion known as Federal and the unmasked Democracy 
Jefferson cultivated was as sharply drawn as now. The 
Federals r ep resented the social or respectable portion of 
our land, and cried down the man the Democracy failed 
to sustain, because Jefferson found it to his |>ersonal ad- 
vantage to destroy htm. 

This is the whole story. As for the charge so lavishly 
indulged in of sexual immorality, Burr's life, admitting 
all, compares favorably w ith that of Hamilton, who sang 
bawdy songs at suppers, and left of record above his own 
signature a confession of a low intrigue while Secretary' of 
the Treasury, of which Burr would have been ashamed. 

If the same measure were awarded all, the father of his 
country would not escape, whrle this same party that is so 
shocked over the private life of Burr swallows that of 
W ebster without a wry face. It would not do, in fact, to 
inspect too closely the social life of any of the world's 
leaders. 

The truth is, that leaders among men are generally 
devils among women. This comes, of the fact that the 
qualities of leadership are more in the physical make than 
in the intellectual powers. Prompt, decisive and self- 
confident ac tion are not intellectual qualities, but rather 
indicate the reverse. The thoughtful man pauses to con- 
sider, and in the consideration loses the golden opjortu- 
nity. " Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,' and in 
a majority of instances with success. I said of Louis 
Napoleon, thirty years since, that hatl he more sense he 
would be less successful. The world at last confirms in 
its opinion my better judgment. 

Your leader of men is seldom a great man, and never a 
good one. That is, if one takes the definition of good- 
ness from the Young Men's Christian Association. 

It is about time that such clear-headed dealers in facts 
as D. T. W right and others should enter their protest to 
the senseless howling down the memory of one of the 
most conspicuous figures of our Revolution, and if they 
cannot canonize Burr, at lease cease cannonading him. — 
Washington Hatchet. 



Dennis Kearny is to open an intelligence office. It 
ought to be a magnificent success, as Dennis' genius is all 
in the direction of finding work for other people. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



A LIFE'S REGRET. 



BY KATHIE HI LI. YE R. 



And yet I madly loved you once, you say. 

I did, but that seems centuries ago; 
That love to me is like an April day, 

With shining sun and cloud-banks dark and low, 
And tears like raindrops falling. 

The summertime was short, its teaching sweet, 
Like roses ere their first full bloom is shed; 

The lessons learned in passion's ardent heal 
Have left but blighted hopes like roses dead, 
Sad memories recalling. 

If you had chosen then to guard my love, 
And cherish it as something which was worth 

Some thoughtful tenderness, a thing above 
Life's sordid cares, my heart would not have dearth 
Of happy, gladsome feeling. 

You did not think, because 'twas lightly won, 
That I could trample it Iron) out my heart. 

Perhaps another would not do as I have done; 

But your hand gave the wound that made us part — 
A wound that's long past healing. 

Sometimes I wish those days were ours again, 
And I was young and trusting, as of yore; 

I wish that all these dreary years of pain 
Could be forgot, as were the years before, 
With but our love remaining. 

The sunny days that gleam with hope and flowers 
Flit all too quickly from our eager grasp; 

The cloudy, dreary lengths of sorrow's hours 
Seem loth to loose us from their chilling clasp, 
Till life's not worth retaining. 



THE TEXT-BOOK ROBBERY. 



BY WILLIAM DALE. 



Shall the schoolmaster remain the hireling of corrupt 
text-book rings? is a question which the people of Califor- 
nia can decide for themselves next November. In the land 
of enlightenment popular education is a subject of the 
deepest interest. The theory of republican liberty is 
based on a system of free education, and it goes without 
saying, therefore, that it is all-important to the perpetuation 
of our institutions that our educators should be worthy of 
respect, if possible. The schoolmaster should be kept far 
aloof from the corrupting influence of politics ; but as this 
seems impossible, he should at least be made to conform 
to the demands of common decency. He should be 
judged by a standard of morality as high as that which 
we apply to the conduct of those who undertake the 
charge of our spiritual welfare. He should be compelled 
by the force of public opinion to assume the guise of 
honesty and the virtue of patriotism. His aspirations 
should be those of the law-abiding citizen, and his am- 
bition the determination to be remembered for the 
good he had done to the community that had intrusted 
him with a great responsibility. Of all things, the school- 
master should not be the earnest exponent of the principle 
that public plunder is the safest and most expeditious 
method of private enrichment. He should not lie ready 
to leave his desk and don the livery of public plunderers. 
He should not emerge from the seclusion of his academy 
to challenge the public attention in the role of a high- 
wayman. Yet that many of our prominent schoolmasters 
strive earnestly to leave undone the duty which they are 
well paid to perform, and labor assiduously to do that 
which makes them criminals in the estimation of every 
honest man as well as in the eyes of the law, is only a fact 
too prominently advertised. There is now going on in 
this state, one of those " book -fights " that occur every 
four years. For months the agents of Eastern publishing 
houses have been flocking to ( 'alifornia. Every Teachers' 
Institute that has met within our state during the past half- 
year, has been the rendezvous of these book-peddlers from 
Boston, Cincinnati and New York. At the annual meet- 
ing of the California State Teachers' Association which 
was recently held in this city, the intrusion of the peddling 
horde became a matter of such unpleasant prominence 
that it soon overshadowed all other considerations. The 
ostensible object of a State Teachers' Association is to 
elevate the profession of teaching by annual meetings for 
the interchange of ideas and the illustration of new 
theories. It is plain that such an organization might oc- 
cupy a high place in the public estimation, and be of 
great advantage to the public system, were the objects of 
its formation faithfully kept in view. The late meeting 
showed very conclusively, however, that the leaven of 
unscrupulousness which permeates the file of the educa- 
tional army had not found the rank impervious. After the 
first weak pretense of carrying out the supposititious 
object of the association, the barriers were taken down and 
the horde of book-peddlers from the East and West were 
allowed unrestrained liberty. Educational advancement 
gave place at once to commercial rivalry, the op|X)sing 
forces being the adherents of the text-book publishers and 
the advocates of a cheaper and more honest system of 
supplying school books. The latter were woefully in 
minority, although the officers of the meeting were of the 
best known of our educators, Mr. Wm. White, of the 
Boys' High School, being President, while among the 
members in attendance were such prominent pedagogues 



as J. P>. McChesney, Oakland; James (1. Kennedy, San 
Jose; Ira Moore, I.os Angeles; F. A. Blackburn, San 
Francisco ; Albert Lyser, San Francisco ; C. S. Smythe, 
Sonoma county; G. P. Hartncy, San Mateo; Professor 
Martin Kellogg, State University; Professor C. H. Allen, 
of the NormalSchool ; C. M. Drake and A. I.. Mann. One 
of the first acts of this most representative gathering was 
to undertake the settlement of the question whether it is 
prudent for the state to print its own text-books. It must 
be remembered thai the public are expected to vote on 
this question next November, so that the decision of the 
pedegogic and self-appointed committee could only be 
viewed as a piece "of political skirmishing. The impossi- 
bility of regarding it as anything else was shown by the 
manner in which the committee was ap|K>inted. One 
member chosen was in the employment of a publishing 
house. Another was the publisher of an advertising 
sheet which is supported by a few text-book printers. The 
other members of the committee have never distinguished 
themselves by their hostility to the iniquitous system of 
text-book jobbery which has debauched successive Hoards 
of Education and disgraced the educational system of the 
state. To leave no doubt of the bias of the Association 
toward the continuance of the rascality which disgraces 
the I >epartment of Education, one member of the Com- 
mittee on Text-books was appointed, although he had 
ceased to belong to the Association and had no right to 
take part in the deliberations, his only recommendation 
being his connection with a publishing house. The report 
of this remarkable congregation of accommodating edu- 
cators and enterprising book-peddlers could have been 
foretold the moment President White announced the com- 
mittee. The decision was strongly and unanimously 
against the state's entertainment of the idea of printing 
its own school books. 

The committee made no attempt to explain its decision, 
or to furnish such figures and facts as might show the ad- 
vantage of permitting a combination of text-book pub- 
lishers to squeeze the pockets of the poor mechanic and 
the poorer laborer. All that the self-constituted judges 
of public policy did was to cast their verdict against the 
proposed amendment to the constitution and then retire 
to refresh their exhausted mentality with the champagne 
and sandwiches of the delighted book -peddlers. In the 
disgraceful row between the few conscientious members of 
the Association and the solid phalanx of hirelings which 
followed, we are not interested. Nothing that might 
occur could have sunk the public pedagogue's profession 
lower in the mire than that verdict of the State Association 
dragged it. Such events, happening as they do with 
lamentable regularity, show the necessity of some change 
in the present system of adopting text-books. There is a 
state law which makes it an offense for a teacher to be- 
come the agent of any publishing house; but of what 
avail is such an enactment when the most representative 
association of teachers in California unblushingly puts. 
itself on record as a convention of unscrupulous cappers? 
As long as the established method of selecting text-books 
remains in force, there will be an active demand for the 
corrupt influence of teachers. The highest salaried 
agents of text-book publishers how on this coast are ex- 
pedagogues, who learned the rudiments of their not too 
reputable profession while ostensibly serving the public. 
The hope of seven-tenths'of the schoolmasters of our 
state to-day is to become the hired solicitors of some pub- 
lishing house, or in time the manufacturers of text-books. 
The business of publishing school books is a large one. 
It represents a vast amount of capital, and requires a 
great deal of the keenest intelligence. Its expenses are 
prodigious, and the margin of its profits must, be propor- 
tionately large. If we were to accept the assurances of 
the agents of publishing houses, the state now receives its 
school books at such a reasonable price that the principal 
benefit to the publisher is the advertisement of his goods. 
Notwithstanding this alleged fact, however, every large 
Eastern publishing house can afford to maintain an ex- 
pensive agency here, and to make it an object for teachers 
lo throw their influence against any reformatory measure. 
And the political influence of the public school-teachers 
of our.city and state is not to be despised in the deter- 
mination of any public question affecting the schools. 
No people understand this fact better than the keen- 
sighted agents of publishing houses. Hence their con- 
centration for months past at the various Teachers' 
Institutes of the state, and the disgraceful exhibition of 

their lobbying abilities at the Slate Teachers' Association. 
No intelligent person can doubt for a moment that a busi- 
ness capable of retaining a large force of lobbyists is 
profitable. The great monopolies of the country have 
their expensive bands of legislative hirelings; the text- 
book rings, equally alert if less powerful, have their corps 
of touters, proportionately influential, and fully as un- 
scrupulous. Such bands of retainers cannot be main- 
tained on a slender margin of profit. 

• The truth is that the publishing business is enormously 
profitable' when conducted as the makers of text-books 
now carry it on — banded, like the transportation com- 
panies of the country, against the interests of the poor. 
In union there is strength — and money for the leeches 
on the public purse. The school book publishers 
speak truly when they say that an active private 
competition is a more effective means of giving the peo- 



ple cheap text-books than a state publicatian office; 
but where is the active competition? The truth is 
that the immensity of the profits enables the rivals to 
"pool their issues" and divide the spoils. Instead of 
pulling against one another for the public plunder, they 
pull together on the taxpayer's purse. Occasionally some 
publisher projects a private enterprise, as in the case of 
Bancroft & Co., who are just now introducing their his- 
tories to the school libra ries of the state. Of these libra- 
ries there are some twenty-five hundred. The price of 
the history is perhaps one hundred dollars. Say it is only 
fifty dollars, and that one thousand libraries subscribe for 
it, there is a scheme worth $50,000. Fifty thousand dol- 
lars would go a long distance toward defraying the cost of 
a book even more valuable to the schools and posterity 
than the great production of Mr. Hubert Bancroft. This 
is only one example, but it illustrates the manner in which 
the publishing houses of the East and West draw fortunes 
from the poor — for it is the poor who pay the taxis. It 
may be said that the great enterprises which these houses 
build up stimulate industry and directly add to the pub- 
lic prosperity. This is not so. They only add to the aggre- 
gation of large fortunes and rob the very poor to, enrich 
the capitalist. The affluent publisher pays the very lowest 
rates to his employees and charges the very highest prices, 
and the toilers of the community are they who pay for his 
goods. It has been shown that the pedagogues of our 
state are his cappers. It needs no demonstration to con- 
vince any one that as long as the present iniquitous system 
of perpetual school book adoption is permitted to remain 
in force the morals of the department will remain in 
the lowest levels. It is one of the imperative necessities 
of the times that the school department shall be lifted out 
of the pool of politics, and it is even more pressing that 
the schoolmaster shall be placed beyond the temptations 
which he is now unable to resist. We do not think that 
the transfer of the text-book business to the State Printer's 
office, as that department has generally been managed, 
would be the best thing that the state could do. We are 
satisfied, however, that it could not be worse than the 
present condition of affairs, where the schoolmaster is 
more loyal to the text-book thief than to the public that 
pays him. It were a thousand times better to waste money 
in a public printing office at Sacramento than preserve 
comparative economy and thus destroy the integrity and 
honestly of the school department. But with the proper 
public sentiment at work we should have neither the pri- 
vate robbery nor the public plunder, nor should we con- 
tinue to hear that wail of the poor toilers against the 
tyranny of the text-book system. It is a fact— a cold, 
indisputable, statistical fact, a fact so plain that a dozen 
figures will demonstrate its truth -that the entire series of 
books required for the use of the schools of California 
could be made at a wholesale cost of one dollar and sixty 
cents. T/iey vow cost ten dollars and forty cents. This 
is the possibility, and it needs but the strong will of the 
ppblic to accomplish the reform and set an example which 
the whole country will follow. 



MUST THIS END ALL? 



I1Y JULIET G. MARSH. 

The long day dies with sunset down the west ; 

Comes the young moon through violet fields of air; 
A fragrance liner than Ihe south winds bear 

lircathes from the sea— the time is come for rest. 
I wait. liirds nest ward fly through deepening blue. 
O heart ! take comfort ; peace will find thee too; 
For lo! between the lights when shadows wane, 

Heart calls to heart across Ihe widening breach 

Of bitter thought, chill touch, and jarring speech, 
And Love cries out to take his own again. 

Give me a kiss of peace. 
Hold not your anger afler Ihe spent sun. 

Lo! I have wrought with sorrow all ihe day, 

Willi tear-wet cypress, and with bitter bay 
liound all my doors. No thread of song has run 

Beside my thought lo lighten it for me. 

Rise up, and with forgiveness set me free. 
F6t who may boast a gilt of lengthened breath? 

And, lest you watch to-morrow's sun arise 
Across my face, new-touched with sudden death 

And the mute pathos of unanswering eyes, 
Turn not aside my hand outstretched, "i finite 

The yearning heart. I. el Love's repentance found 
Have Love's reward. All life is mixed with Fate. 
And, 0 beloved! Death's angel will not wail 

for summoned feel lo basic on anxious round 
W illi ciuick " Forgive, forgive! we pass to-night!" 

All day Regret has walked and talked with me, 

And, lest to-morrow it should go with thee, 
( live me the kiss of peace. 



A TIIOUOHTFU1. HUSBAND. 



i\ Detroit lady, who is subject to heart disease, took lea 
last Sunday with a neighbor, and while sitting at table 
her husband rushed in without a hat and 111 his shirt- 
sleeves. 

"Be calm!" he exclaimed hurriedly to his wife; 
" don't excite yourself; you know you can't stand excite- 
ment, and it might be worse." 

"Good heavens t " cried his wife; " the children 1— " 

"They're all right! Now, Mary, don't get excited. 
Keep calm and tool- it can't be helped now; we must 
bear these visitations of Providence with philosophy)" 

"Then it is mother! " gasped his wife. 

"Your mother's safe; get on your things, but don't 
hurry or worry. It's too late to be of any use, but I'll fly 
back and see what I can do. I only came to tell you not 
tf> get excited." 

"For mercy sake!" implored the almost fainting 
woman, " tell me the worst ! " 

" Well, if you will have it, the consequences be on 
your head, Mary. I've tried to prepare you, and if you 
will know — don't excite yourself— try and survive — but 
our chimney's on fire, and the whole department and all 
the neighbors are in our front yard ! " 

She survived. — Free Press. 



t6 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THK TWADDLER. 



As I was sauntering down Kearny street on 
Wednesday afternoon, arm-in-arm with my 
friend Mr. Pickering, we met a large number of 
the aristocracy and exchanged salutations with 
them. The Count de TocqueviDe and Mr. De 
Young were promenading, lioth looking well, 
and the latter very stylish. It is really remark- 
able how well my friend De Young has caught 
the air of the beau mantle. He paused to shake 
hands with Mr. Pickering, and as they were 
chatting, Major Turnbull, of the Alta. and 
Judge Greathous'e, of the Examiner, toddled up, 
sucking the heads of their canes, with which 
they tapped Mike and Loring facetiously. As 
the group was about to break up a happy thought 
struck me. lieing a flaneur, I am always think- 
ing of something to eat, and says I : 

"Hold on, gents; I'm hit in the head! 
What d'ye say to a dinner for six persons? 
Here's me and Pickering, Mike and the Count, 
and the Major and Judge." 

The felicitous idea was adopted, and we sat 
down to a bill-of-*are written in French at 
Frank's. I've mislaid my pocket dictionary of 
hackneyed foreign terms, so it's impossible for 
me to keep up my usual pretense of being fa- 
miliar with French cookery. The eating was 
A I, and the best sauce I ever had at a meal was 
to sec Zulano.the CW/VTritieranci the Chronicle's 
Undertones Battening their noses against the 
window and slavering with envy. We met later 
over the walnuts and wine — that's what we've 
agreed to call crackers and beer among our- 
selves — and I gloated over them. Ten to one 
they'll write up that little spread at Frank's as 
if they had been on the inside instead of the 
outside of the window. It's the business of us 
newspaper flaneurs to write of cookery with a 
familiarity which only a retired waiter really 
possesses. 

While I was lounging in the club window the 
other afternoon, my graceful friend Fitch of the 
Bulletin glided up. Says he: 

"Curse me! My life is made miserable again 
by the cook of this club." 

"What's the matter?" I asked, with concern. 

"Why, may the devil broil me, if the salad 
wasn't sodden again to-day!" 

It was some moments before my emotion per- 
mitted me to speak, and then I inquired ten- 
derly: 

"Deacon, do you think — as between friends, 
now — that you've been quite right in the head 
since you met with that accident?" 

"What accident?" asked Fitch, in astonish- 
ment. 

" Why, when you were caved down the bank, 
you know." 

This little pleasantry seemed somehow to go 
rather against Fitch's grain, for he got red in 
the face, and said he'd be dashed if he'd let any 
man insult him. 

"Insult you, my dear fellow," I hastened to 
explain, " I assure you that I hadn't any such 
intention. It wasn't my own idea; everybody 
seems to think you surfercd from concussion of 
the brain in that tumble. Anyway, the Bulletin 
ought to sue the railroad company for damages, 
because it has never recovered from the effects 
of that fall. You don't look as if you were 
idiotic, however; so I suppose it was the paper's 
skull and not yours that got fractured." 

Fitch, who is a good fellow at bottom, was 
mollified by this explanation, and saving, "By 
Jove, that's a good one; I'll work it off on 13art- 
lett," he left me. 

The want of respect shown by the lower 
classes for their betters is one of the most disa- 
greeable features of life in San Francisco. Only 
yesterday morning I was myself a victim of the 
gross insolence of a low creature who actually 
makes her living by keeping lodgers. She met 
me at the bottom of the stairs, with an odious 
baby hanging over her arm, and accosted me 
I was hastening out, for the hallway smelt 
dreadfully of boiled cabbage. 

"Good mornin', Mr. Persiflage," says this 
person, with a look in her eye that was in itself 
an insult. 

However, I answered her greeting with the 
condescending courtesy which the higher orders 
owe it to themselves always to assume toward 
their inferiors. Noblesse oblige (I've found my 
dictionary). 

"That tailor man was here again yesterday," 
she went on, with a vicious grin, standing be- 
tween me and the door. 

I bowed. 

" He cursed dreadful, an' said he'd be Mowed 
if it didn't serve him right to have to run his 
feet off for bein' such a fool as to give tick to a 
snide swell." 

I started. 

" Kin ye gimme somethin' on the rent? " 

I drew myself up to my full height, and en- 
deavored to take my departure with I ecoming 
dignity; but this wretched hussy interposed her- 
self and her infernal baby — which had begun to 
squall — and I had to stand and take a flood of un- 
grammatical — horribly ungrammatical — abuse. 

" Who are ye ! " she yelled, so that all Natoma 
street could hear her. "Who are ye, that the 
likes av ye shud put on chape shtoyle at the 
expinse av dacint, hard-wurrkin payple? [She's 
one of the Pope's Irish, and I've noticed that 
her vulgar brogue betrays itself when she's ex- 



cited.] Ye wroile an the papers as if ye war 
livin' an Nob Hill! Sure it's rowlin' in wealth, 
yc are, an' movin' in the hoight av poloitc so- 
coiety, an' aitin' Flinch dinners — an paper. 
But yer raily in luck fwhin ye kin sit down to 
yer three twelve-cint dishes fur twenty-foive 
cents in a rawbone rishtaurant . An' as fur the 
woines yer scribblin' about from wake to wake, 
be me sowl, Oi don't belave ye knows cham- 
pagne from Oirish whisky! Will ye pay me 
me rint ? " 

I gave her one of my looks, and swept past 
her with my accustomed hauteur. 

Ah, the life of us flaneurs is not altogether 
the gay and elegant existence it seems when we 
write so lightheartedly and gracefully of it for 
the delectation of fashionable society. 

I'EKSIFI.Ar.E. 



Professor Kvangelinus Apostoliclcs Sophocles, 
Creek professor at Harvard, is dead. Professor 
Evangelinus, etc., had an immense advantage 
over most distinguished men. Nobody ever 
named a baby after him. 



The announcement is made that five new and 
swift steamships are to be added to the trans- 
Atlantic lines. Everything seems to be work- 
ing for the good of American bank cashiers. 



Ladies who practice economy should not fail to have 
their dresses made at Sullivan's, 120 Kearny street. 



Rowei.l's Fire of Life, $1.00. For sale by all drug- 
gists. 

Ladies may always depend upon finding the latest 
styles and brightest novelties in ladies', misses' and chil- 
dren's cloaks and suits, at the lowest prices, at Sullivan's, 
120 Kearny street. 

Captain J. H. McMf.nomy, of California Market fame, 
presents to epicures the only grain-fed beef to \k pro- 
cured in San Francisco. Lovers of that special article 
would be well repaid by a visit to Capt. J. H. McMcno- 
my's meat stalls, 6 and 8 California Market, where the dis- 
play of extra fattened beeves is a pleasure to the eye of 
all good livers. In no other place can the above be had. 



The Latest Novelty.— Fine Jersey waists, in wool 
and silk, both braided and trimmed with jet, at very low 
prices, at Sullivan's — the leading cloak and suit house — 
120 Kearny street. 



QELERY, BEEF AND IRON, 

THK GREAT TONIC AND NF.RVINE. 

Sold by Druggists everywhere on the coast. 
Laboratory, 537 Clay street- 



YVm. M. Stewart. Wm. F. Herrin. 

^TEWART & HERRIN, 

ATTORNEY'S AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW, 



310 Pine Street, 



Rooms 23 to 26. 



W. S. Wood. 



R. H. Lloyd. 



T LOYD & WOOD, 

ROOMS 9 TO 13, NEVADA BLOCK, 
Northwest corner Montgomery and Pine streets. 



I. 



OFFICES OF 

FRANK J. SULLIVAN, 
Rooms 130 and 132 Phelan Building, 

[unction Market and O'Farrell sts. 



A 



RTHUR RODGERS, . 

fUTORNEV AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW, 
240 Montgomery st., corner of Pine. 



R. 



H. TAYLOR, 

ATTORNEY AT LAW, 



420 Montgomery street, San Francisco. 

Rooms 2 and 3. 



I) 



R. E. H. PARDEE, 

OCCULIST AND AURIST. 



Office, 526 Montgomery street, cor. Clay, San Francisco. 
Large supply of Artificial Eves. 



? W. RAVELEY, 



S 



BOOK AND JOB PRINTER, 
518 Ci.ay Street, 
(Between Montgomery and Sansome streets) 
SAN FRANCISCO. 



RICHARDS & HARRISON, 

COR. SANSOME AND SACRAMENTO STS. 

IMPORTERS OF 

FOREIGN FINE WINES, LIQUORS AND ENG- 
LISH GROCERIES. 

Agents for 

CROSSE & BLACKWELL, London: 
Assorted Pickles, English Plum Puddings, 

Oriental Pickles, Gluuccstcr Cheese, 

Assorted Sauces, Putted Meats and Fish, 

Malt and Crystal Vinegar, York Hams and Bacon, 
Spanish Queen Olives, Indian Chutnies, 

Lucca Salad Oils, Met/ Crystalized Fruits, 

Assorted Jams and Jellies, Table Delicacies. 
J. & J. COLMAN, London, 
(English Double Superfine Mustard.) 
Fry's and Epp's Cocoas and Chocolate; 

Liebig Company's Extract of Meat". 

Day 8i Martin's London Blacking, 

Philippe & Canaud's French Sardines. 

ALSO, 

Cup and Saucer Brand op Japanese UncolorsdTea 
Each pound-paper containing a handsome 
paintad Cup and Saucer, 



OALACE HOTEL. 

A. D. SHARON, LESSEE. 



The Palace Hotel occupies an entire block in the cen- 
ter of San Francisco. It is the model house of the world. 
It is Fire and Earthquake-proof, It has five elevators. 
Every room is large, light and airy. The ventilation is 
perfect. A bath and closet adjoin every- room. All 
ro'jms are easy of access from broad, light corridors. 
The central court, illuminated by the electric light, its 
immense glass roof, its broad balconies, its carriage-way, 
and its tropical plants, is a feature hitherto unknown in 
American hotels. Guests entertained on either the 
American or the European plan. The restaurant is the 
(font in the city. 



^pHE NEVADA BANK 

OF SAN FRANCISCO. 
PAID-UP CAPITA! $3,000,000 IN GOLD 

DIRECTORS: 
James C. Flood, President: 

Geo. L. Braniier, Vice-President: 
James G. Fair, James L. Flood, John W. Mack-ay. 

J. S. Angus, Secretary and Cashier: 

Geo. ('.rant, Assistant Cashier; 

New Vork Agency, 62 Wall Street. 

London Correspondents, Union Bank of London Lm'd. 

p J. KENNEDY, GROCER, 

Keeps constantly on hand a select stock of 
FANCY AND STAPLE GROCERIES. 
Native and Imported 

WINES AND LIQUORS. 
Scotch, Bourbon and Irish Whisky, 
English Ale, Guinness* Porter, Etc. 
In quality and prices he invites comparison. Wright, 
quantity and quality warranted. Strict attentiop paid to 
country orders. Shipping and delivering free. 
CORNER MARKE T AN D TAYLOR STREETS, 
San Francisco. 

pREE ART GALLERY. 

MORRIS & KENNEDY, 

DEALERS IN 

FINE ARTS, ARTISTS' MATERIALS, GOLD 
FRAMES, ETC., 
19 and 21 Post St., Opp. Masonic Temple. 



J- 



H. McMENOMY, 

RETAIL BUTCHER. 
The Only Dealer in Grain-Fed Bkef in 
San Francisco. 
Stalls 8 & 9 California Market. 



[T IS A WELL-KNOWN FACT 



M. B. MORAC.HAN 
Has the finest OYSTERS, CLAMS and ALL KINDS 
OF SHELL-FISH to be procured anywhere in the city. 
Families, hotels, and public and private parties supplied. 
STALLS-68 AND 69 CALIFORNIA MARKET. 
Open all night. 



T 1 



ORS 

PHOTOGRAPHIC STUDIO, 
1025 Larkin Street, 
Corner Sutter, San Francisco. 

^MERICAN WATCHES, 

Largest Assortment on the Pacific Coast. 
W. MANNING, 
804 Market Street, Phbi.an Building. 

QANAVAN, GARH ART & NICHOLS 

NEVADA STABLES, 



1336 & 1338 Market Stkkkt, 



Near City Hall. 



The best accommodation afforded for the keeping of 
Boarding Horses. Also a choice line of Livery Slock, 
with Horses and Vehicles of every description. 

Telephone No. 3159. 



H 



UTCHINSON & MANN 



INSURANCE AGENCY, 
322 and 324 California street, 302 and 304 Sansome street, 
San Francisco. 
(Northeast corner of California and Sansome sts.) 

pF.COUNT BROTHERS, 

STATIONERS, PRINTERS, and 

BLANK-BOOK MANUFACTURERS, 

533 Market street, San Francisco. 

pURNITURE AND CARPETS 

Sold on the Installment Plan. 
Easy Terms. 
GILBERT & MOORE, 
18 & 20 Sutter Street, San Francisco 1 

PIANOS. 

JT STECK, PATENT ARIAN, SCHWECHTEN. 
BEN J. CURTAZ, Agent. 
Wars Rooms, 20 O'Farrell Street. 
Pianos to rent, and lold on easy monthly installments. 



QRY ALOUD! SPARE NOT! 

Our Appliances 
CURE CONSUMPTION, RHEUMATISM, NEU- 
RALGIA, DYSPEPSIA, KIDNEY DISEASE, ETC. 

LIVING MEN AND WOMEN 
TESTIFY TO THE TRUTH OF THE ABOVE 
, STATEMENT. 

IN SOLES ($1) CURE COLD FEET, and 

RHEUMATISM IN FEET AND ANKLES. 
Come and investigate. 

CHICAGO MAGNETIC SHIELD CO., 
106 Post street, San Francisco. 



pOOS BROTHERS, 

THE LEADING CLOTHIERS, 
MANUFACTURERS AND DIRECT IMPORTERS 
3'> 33- 35 & 37 Kearny Street, 
San Francisco. 
Branch House, 22 South C Street, V irginia City. 



[^OSENER BROS." 

STAR 
STAR 
STAR 



MALT HO U S F. , 
MALT HOUSE, 
M A L T HOUSE, 



Corner Eleventh and Folsom Streets. 



BEST QUALITY BAY MALT FOR SALE. 



J 



OHN ROURKE, 



MERCHANT TAILOR, 



PALACE HOTEL, 629 MARKET STREET, 



San Francisco. 



pURE APPLE CIDER. 

BOILED CIDER, for cooking purposes. 

SWEET CIDER, direct from the press. 

HARD CIDER, 5 years old, in qts., 
kegs and bbls. 

PURE CIDER VINEGAR 

This Cider and Vinegar is made from the pure juice of 
Apples. Merchants who purchase our V inegar can save 
in freight, as it can l>e reduced before selling, owing to its 
extraordinary strength. It is the purest and best — always 
of high test. 

FRANCIS DeLONG, 
Orchard: Novato Ranch, Marin County, 
Office : 206 & 208 Battery Street, San Francisco. 



M. E. Joyce. 



Jim Orndorpf. 



gALDWIN HOTEL BAR, 

BILLIARD ROOMS. 
DISPENSATORY OF SPIRITUAL COMFORT. 

CLUB ROOMS. 
Entrance from Powell and Market Streets. 

Also, Private Rooms. 

pRICE'S CARVERS. 

Tourists, remember to take home a set of 
PRICE'S FAMOUS CALIFORNIA CARVERS, 
(His own make and design) 
or a fair of his 
GUARD RAZORS, WARRANTED NOT TO CUT 
THE FLESH WHILE SHAVING. 

ALSO, 

HOME-MADE SCISSORS and POCKET-KNIVES. 
STORE 415 KEARNY STREET. 




THE SAN FRANCISCAN 



MARCH 1, 1884. 



VOL. I.— NO. ?. 




PRICE TEN CENTS 



ORIGINAL ARTICLES: 

The Reign of King Claus [Illustrated.] Thomas E. Flynn i 

How They Did It in '50 George Sandy 2 

Sl'RLYMAN AND GOODFELLOW 6 

Mv Friend the Undertaker a 

A Twenty-second of February Vision W. A. Selkirk 7 

The Railroad Question S. E. Moffett 16 

Moral Value of Blackguardism 7 

A Visit to San Gabriel Mission. ..M. V. Leech and Ella J. Mitchell 10 

The New Zealanders John Manning 11 

The Sword of Science Sam Davis 12 

Heart-Wrecked Joseph T. Goodman 4 

The Funny Old Man in the Moon R. E. White 3 

Roses and Rue Kathie Hillyer 11 

Grinding at the Mili Hiram Hoyt Redmond 11 

Retrospection Clinton Scollard 14 

Nineteen Clyde Harron 15 

TheTwadller "Persiflage" 5 

The Stage "Volage" 13 

Editorials — Governor Stoneman ; The Martyrdom of Salmi Morse; 

Minister Sargent; Cranks and Their Uses; Is It a Sham Battle? 8 



THE REIGN OF KING CLAUS. 



FROM THE HEBREW OF IS ADORE CHOYNSKI. 



[There are few names more illustrious than that of Isadore Choynski, the 
Hebrew statesman, philosopher, historian and satirist, whose pen contributed 
so liberally to the litarature of Half Moon Bay and Spanishtown during the 
latter part of the third century. Rabbi Choynski was the friend and com- 
panion of such famous men as Alcade Phillip A. Roach, Sam Brannan the 
Sadducee, Pixley the Nazarene and Leman the Levite, and by such associa- 
tion enjoyed unusual opportunities for valuable historical work. The Rabbi 
was a wonderful linguist, a great scholar, a keen observer of current 
events, and an excellent judge of whisky. Notwithstanding his accomplish- 
ments, he was never called upon to accept public ofhee, perhaps because he 
preferred the pure delights of literary triumphs to the meretricious pleasures 
of public preferment. He was a prolific author, and, unlike the writers of 
his day, lost no time in decorating his parchment with fanciful hieroglyphics, 
but dipped his fist in his ink-pot, and with that incisive weapon slashed at the 
vices and follies of the hour. The appended sketch is from the preface of the 
Rabbi's greatest work, " Howi vos Sodam Foolloan Stoneman Fiftythaler." — 
Ed. San Francisan.] 

At the time of which I write, 201 A. D., Claus Spreckels was 
King of the Cannibal Islands. By nativity, King Spreckels 
should have preferred sauerkraut to fricasseed savage, but several 
years of careful study of the writings of Editor de Young put 
him in a condition to chew iron, to say nothing of the sirloin, of 
some dusky slave. One ol the most valuable products of the Can- 




nibal Islands, at the time, was leprosy; but this was so indispens- 
able to the comfort ol the natives that very little of it was ex- 
ported. The principal articles of exportation were the Royal 
Cabinet and a sort of native fungus knows as Kalakaua. After 
these in the commercial estimate came raw sugar, of which 
the King claimed a monopoly— His Cannibal Majesty, like the 
rulers of civilization, deeming everything in the taffy line his ex- 
clusive right. In the years of his vigorous manhood, the dream 
of King Spreckels was to feed the whole world on sugar, so that 
the royal larder might ever be full of saccharine-fattened sub- 



jects. In pursuance of this ambition, the King made frequent in- 
cursions on the western coast of the American continent, and 
rarely returned without the scalps of a couple of fat San Fran- 
cisco merchants. 

In time, however, by the number of his predatory successes, 
King Spreckels grew fat and indolent, and tiring of his aggressive 
warfare, he devoted himself to the beautifying of his palace and 
the congregation around him of congenial spirits. At that time 
congenial spirits were more abundant in San Francisco than any 
other kind. They were all above proof, though somewhat under 
suspicion of being anxious to work; and the news of an opening 
in the Cannibal Islands caused quite a flutter of excitement. A 
few of the more juicy ones, who still remembered the pleasing sen- 
sation of three meals in one day, hung back in doubt, lest the open- 
ing might prove too large for them. The l'oet Stoddard, however, 
embraced the opportunity at once. Having written incessantly 
for ten years in a community in which men were hung for murder, 
the Poet had learned to set small store on his life. His violent 
exercise on the winged steed of the muses — too often on an empty 
stomach at that — had so reduced him in flesh that he was more 
likely to arouse the cupidity of a showman than the appetite of a 
savage. The Bard arrived safely at the Cannibal Islands, and 
while waiting for an audience with the King, took a walk on 
"The Reef," a romantic spot by the seashore to which all debtors 
are sent to expiate their offenses. 




The Poet was somewhat surprised to find one of the worst cus- 
toms of civilization grafted on savagery, but the hearty reception 
accorded him by the King quickly restored his equanimity. 
After a grand fete the Poet was sent off with a strong guard to 
read some of his verses to a band of plantation slaves whose ap- 
petites had been rendered inordinate by too much exercise on a 
diet of fresh morning air. The remedy proved so elfective that 
invitations were showered on the Poet by the rich chiefs of the 
Islands, until the King was forced to protect the Laureate by an 
ordinance making it fryable for any man to absent himself while 
his slaves were being physicked. This precaution had the desired 
effect, and The Poet, left to discharge the agreeable duties of his 
office, soon delighted his royal patron by several exquisite poems, 
the best known of which are "Sunset on a Sugar Mill," and 
" Meditations on an Empty Molasses Tub." When the news of 
the Poet's triumphs reached San Francisco there was a renewed 
desire among the congenial spirits to evaporate, lly this time 
most ol them had so shrunk in bulk that there was scarcely 
anything in the city small enough to hold them. King 
Spreckels, inspired by the writings of his Laureate, made 
a treaty with (he North American continent. By this cove- 
nant the freedom of the Western Hemisphere, incalculable 
commercial advantages and ten million dollars a year were 
granted King Spreckels, on condition of his taking charge of the 
surplus talent of Pine street, the Bar Association and the 
Bohemian Club of San Francisco. The treaty was signed 
on the 17th of March, 201, A. »., and was ratified throughout 
the country with .the most exuberant symptoms of popular de- 
light. Even at this late day the event is still commemorated in a 
worthy manner, and once each month the Bohemian Club re- 
vives the memory of the historic transaction by an enthusiastic 
demonstration known as a High Jinks. In pursuance of his 
sworn obligations, king Spreckels immediately took charge of 
the Honorable Paul Neumann, a great orator, statesman, poet 
and wit of the day, and not infrequently of the night as well. 
Mr. Neumann had served his country when it was worth only 
eight dollars a day and board to be a patriot. By this 
heroic example of self-denial he had virtually placed him- 
self outside the .pale of public office, for (here was a heavy 
salary attached to every very high position except that 
reserved by the public for the Railroad Commissioners. 
Mr. Neumann speedily achieved great fame as a lawyer by de- 
fending his friend the Laureate against the charge of having in- 
jured the banana crop by the indiscriminate publication of his 
verses. The great advocate proved conclusively the injustice of 
the accusation by describing the luxuriance of vegetation on the 




Poet's birthplace, where one could not shy a brick in any direc- 
tion without knocking down a couple of cabbage-heads or a 
dozen or so of beats. As a tribute to his wonderful 
legal ability, Mr. Neumann was appointed Attorney General, 
and vested with authority to devise a new code of laws for the 
kingdom. This pleasing duty he performed in a highly satisfac- 
tory manner, his most noticeable improvements being the aboli- 
tion of imprisonment for debt, and the concession to all debtors 
of the right to have importunate creditors banished from the 
Islands or placed under bonds. 

He also icmodclcd 
the great seal of state, 
and instead of the 
suggestive design of 
a native basting a fat 
grocery man in front 
of a roaring fire, in- 
troduced a stamp of 
artistic and scholarly 
significance. His 
Majesty made several 
overtures for the ser- 
vices of Senator Tim 
McCarthy to act as 
Prime Minister and 
conduct the native 
Legislature on the high moral plane of the American institution. 
The Senator's patriotic services were in such demand, however, 
that his admiring countrymen strongly opposed the desire of the 
King, preferring violation of the treaty todeprivation of so worthy 
a representative. The rupture thus caused almost precipitated a 
war, and was only healed by the generous proposal of the Ameri- 
can people to permit the enlistment of Sconchin Maloncy as Secre- 
tary of State and Congressman Maybcll as Keeper of the Privy 
Seal. Before this arrangement could be entered into, Mr. 
Maloney obtained a remunerative position as an automatic 
foghorn on the coast of Brazil, and Mr. Maybell got more seals 
than he could take charge of on his estate at Mooneyvillc. 
With the stock of imported talent which he had, however, King 
Spreckels enjoyed himself to his heart's content, and kept court 
on such a magnificent scale that the barbaric beauty of his es- 
tablishment was the talk of all the civilized centers from San 
lose to Paris. Every afternoon the King held a grand levee, His 
Majesty being seated on a throne of oak profusely decorated with 
the richest golden syrup. The steps of the dais that upheld the 
throne were composed of aromatic woods culled from the 
forests of the West and inlaid with the finest white crystal, 
worth seven cents a pound without any drawback. 

The termination of King Spreckels' reign was rather melan- 
choly. One day when His Majesty was surrounded by his Cabi- 
net, as in the introductory sketch — Major General McFarlane 
being on his left, and the Attorney General and Poet Laureate 
on his right — a distinguished stranger with a gripsack in his 
hand was seen approaching. Having prostrated himself before 
the throne with many protestations of resect, the stranger (who 
proved to be the Celebrated art critic Maximilian Aurelius Strau- 
blcs) handed His Majesty a scaled envelope. The King tore 
open the missive, hastily perused it, and then snatched a fistful 
of hair from his royal locks. The letter stated briefly that His 
Majesty might expect by the next steamer the Baron Tavernier 
with his whole Palette Club, Mr. Brooks with seven mammoth 
studies of the Long Bridge smelt, Joe Tilden, Colonel Harry 
Brady, the Art Association and fifteen journalists and bad act- 
ors. The fearful truth was too plain to lie mistaken. The King 
had been outwitted by American diplomacy. The Bohemian 
Club, the Bar Association and Pine street were really but the 
multiple of every institution, from the Palace Hotel to the Alms 
House, and in contracting to take care of them for ten millions 
a year and immunity from all tariffs, King Spreckels had ruined 
himself. 




Bowling the Laureate over with a blow of his crown, and 
kicking Ambassador Straubles' valise over the palatial palm- 
tree, his enraged Majesty fled to the water with his subjects, 
and left the whole island to the invaders. Days after the Poet 



and his white companions were picked up by a passing ship; 
but the King was never heard of after, ana his fate will ever be 
surrounded by dark and horrible mystery. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



HOW THEY DID IT IX >. 

BY GEORGE SANDY. 



On the 22d of February, thirty-four years ago, I was 
reclining on my bundle of blankets in front of Larkin's 
log-store, at the mouth of the ravine putting into Deer 
creek, where Nevada City now stands. The snow was 
eight or ten inches deep all around, and the lowering sky 
betokened a coming storm. In the wilderness, with no 
friends near, and with but little money, foot-sore and 
weary, everything looking leaden, bleak and dreary, my 
mood was dismal as the forest — or dismal as can be. A 
man not a whit more loquacious than myself lay along- 
side me; and, as it was nearing dusk, he suggested that 
we go up the ravine toward the Sugar Loaf, where there 
was a cabin used as a house of entertainment, and make 
arrangements for supper and shelter. 

On approaching the house we saw half a dozen men 
and a woman, who were celebrating the day by shooting 
their rifles at a mark. The shots were all remarkably 
good, but the woman's were the best, rarely varying an 
inch from the center. Strange as this scene in the wintry 
forest was, it induced no comment from either of us. 
The woman was the most spirited one of the company, 
and decidedly the most garrulous. A few minutes after 
we joined them, the whole party went in to warm them- 
selves and eat supper. The cabin faced the Sugar Loaf, 
and the entire south end was occupied by a fire of glow- 
ing logs. The hot meal, cheerful blaze and happy small- 
talk of the woman and her male companions dispelled 
melancholy, and prepared me for a fine night's rest. 

About ten o'clock we all lay down together on the dirt 
floor — the woman in her, and every man in his own, 
blankets; and we were soon snoring away at a thunder- 
ing gait. Three or four hours thereafter I was awakened 
with the rest by the noise of a row and the cry of " Mur- 
der ! " on the outside, doing to the door, I found the 
snow falling fast and the darkness impenetrable. The 
shouts had subsided. Being a stranger in that region, as 
I presume a majority of the others were, I soon lost my 
curiosity, went in to the fire, and sank down in my 
blankets to snooze out the night. Somebody remarked, 
just as my eyes closed, " Well, if the man's dead, he'll 
be there in the morning." So I thought, and fell asleep. 

After breakfast I crossed the ravine and strolled through 
the snow in the direction the cry of murder had seemed 
to come from. About one hundred and fifty yards below 
our lodgings, sure enough, there lay the man, turned up 
on his side, half of his shirt torn off, and a large gaping 
wound in the back, near the lower part of his right 
shoulder-blade. Two men were near, talking about the 
row. I examined the wound, which was so large that the 
flow of blood did not fill it up before the body froze, and 
I recalled what I have since often heard men threaten to 
do — " putting daylight through a man." 

Directing a few questions to the men standing by, I 
ascertained that they were debating the propriety of in- 
vestigating the matter. After arranging the preliminaries 
between them, they went off. By this time many persons 
were coming and going constantly ; and becoming chilled 
myself, I went back to the cabin, where I remained for 
an hour and then returned to the inquest. 

Perhaps twenty-five men, in all manner of garb, and of 
various nationalities, were standing about the body. A 
large sugar-pine, which had been felled a day or two pre- 
vious, lay about fifteen feet from the remains. On the 
stump were two black bottles, partly filled with brandy 
and whisky, and a tin cup. Some fellow, who looked as 
if he had been on a debauch for a week, and whom the 
principal actors addressed as Major Domo, called the 
meeting to order. 

" Gentlemen : You all know what brings us here to- 
day. If we do live in the wilderness, we ain't quite sav- 
ages yet; and for my part, 1 hain't forgot how this thing 
is done back to hum. Here's a man's been killed ; and 
as civilized beings we ought to find out, if we kin, the 
whys and wherefores of it. If any feller's got any thing 
to say, now's the time to talk it out. Pitch in." 

No. 2. I move this man [Laying his hand on the shoul- 
der of a six-jooter.] be appointed Sheriff, to take in charge 
that little fellow at the cabin, and the man who says he- 
is the partner of the cadaver. 

" The w-h-a-t?" cried three or four. 

No. 2. The cadaver. 

" And what is cay-day-ver?" said one. 

No. 2. The corpse; the dead man; the stiff. 

Ail. Oh, yes; agreed. 

Off went the Sheriff, and brought "the little fellow" 
down from a cabin about a hundred yards off that ap- 
peared to be a kind of groggery, and placed him between 
the stump and the corpse. 

Sheriff. [Addressing the dead man's partner.] You stand 
up here ; and don't leave, for we want you as witness. 

Moccasins, the witness, stood where he was directed, 
facing the " little fellow." 

No. j. Major, the liquor's all out ; and I move that the 
Sheriff lake the bottles to the cabin and have 'em filled — 
and fetch down an extra one. 

Major. I guess it ain't necessary to put the question. 
The Sheriff knows his duty. 

The Sheriff went off and got the liquor; and every man 
present took a drink. 



No. 4. We must have a jury. The Major '11 do for 
judge. Major, I move you appoint a jury of twelve; 
and let 'em sit on the log. 

No objection being interposed, the Major went around, 
putting his hand on the men, and telling them to take 
their seats. All who were requested to did so, with the 
exception of a half-drunken man who said he was a law- 
yer, and who called Moccasins off about four rods and 
conversed with him in an undertone. 

A juror now suggested that the judge and jury retire 
and have their talk. They accordingly withdrew a short 
distance, formed in a semicircle, the judge in front, and 
talked the matter over for ten minutes. Then they re- 
turned and took their seats, the judge nearest the stump. 
Taking hold of a bottle, the judge poured out a stiff horn 
and drank, passing the cup and bottle to the next man. 
So it went through the thirteen. 

Major. [Standing up.] It looks like we are all cut and 
dried now for the business afore us. Mr. , [Speak- 
ing to the lawyer.] we ought to be acquainted. What's 
your name? 

Lawyer. Fuddlelaw. 

Major. Well, Mr. Fuddlelaw, I want you to talk com- 
mon sense. It can't be exacted that we fellers who 
come from Pike county and the Keystone coal-pits knows 
any thing about them books they call Coke and Black- 
stone ; but you can pungle your hat and five pounds of 
dust we knows quarts [Nodding to the bottles.] and anthra- 
cite, too, when we sees 'em. When 1 get through with 
this yer chap, you can commence spouting. [To the pris- 
oner.] Sir, you know what we're alter. We charges you 
with killing that man last night, in the fuss you had with 
him. You can have one of them men for your lawyer, il 
you want one; and if you don't, you can talk for your- 
self. What's your name? 

Little Bellow, jack Chips. I didn't kill him; and 1 
don't want any lawyer. I can do my own talking; and 
I can do my own fighting, too— if I am a little man ! 

Major. Come, come — we don't want that yer kind o' 
gab. You can talk a little, but we calkerlate to do the 
most of that business ourselves. Are you guilty, or not 
guilty? You might as well say yes, and save us a deuced 
sight of trouble to prove it. (Jut with it, now ! 

Chips. I'm not guilty. And I'll keep you here till hell 
freezes over before I'll 'danger my guzzle by acknowledg- 
ing an impossibility. 

Major. You won't acknowledge it, then? 

Chips. Narry time ! 

Major. Mr. Fuddlelaw, you can move the audience. 

Fuddlelaw. May it please the Court and you, Gentle- 
men of the Jury : [Goes to the stump and takes a drink; 
stoops down, gathers a handful of snow, presses it into a 
ball, and commences sucking it.] A foul murder has been 
committed, and the odor of human blood, here shed, 
pollutes the pure atmosphere of God's high heaven. But 
yester eve, and this thing — a stiff, stark and ghastly corse, 
a man of ice — was a living, moving, intelligent and 
reasoning being. Now, the suppleness of his joints is 
gone, the play of his wit has ceased, and his judgment 
no longer influences the actions of his associates. The 
laws predominant in all civilized lands cry aloud for the 
punishment of the perpetrator of this most heinous of 
crimes. Far removed, as we are, from the moral influ- 
ences which subdue crime and check temptation to its 
committal near the homes of our childhood, I trust we 
have not forgotten the days when we stood in the Sab- 
bath-school and lisped from the catechism that law which 
emanated from the Creator, " Thou shalt not kill ; " nor 
yet those other days when, having laid aside the cate- 
chism, that other mandate of the Almighty, "Pie who 
sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed," 
became indelibly impressed on our minds. We owe a 
duty one to the other, to the world and to our God, to 
punish, check and abate this crime, wherever it rears its 
head. And I opine there is not a man here who will 
scruple about the performance of that duty, or seek to 
evade the responsibility it imposes. Without perambu- 
lating the entire field for concurrent testimony, I will so 
concentrate the circumlluent circumstances that there 
cannot be a shade of a shadow of doubt in your minds, 
or the flash of a questioning scintilla in ours, as to your 
verdict. Notwithstanding the short period I have had to 
prepare for the task, I am refulgent with faith and san- 
guine in ability to designate and demonstrate, by unim- 
peachable testimony, who the guilty man-destroyer is. 

Major. For God's sake, Mr. Fuddlelaw, cut it short ! 

Fuddlelaw. Y'our Honor, I'll do it — for there's a game 
of French monte now going on at the mill [groggery}, 
and I'm interested in the bank. The cursed greenhorns 
are all the time kicking up a row round the table, and 
Lamb-like Pete isn't able to master all of them without 
assistance. [Soto voce.] This job won't pan out much, 
anyhow. Gentlemen of the jury, this matter requires 
but few words from me; and, deferring to the Judge's 
intimation, I will not cloy you by any unnecessary ver- 
biage, relying solely upon the evidence to so frame your 
decision that the outraged laws of God and man may in 
proper measure be propitiated. Here I rest, and charge 
that that is THE Man ! [Pointing his indexed hand at 
Chips, and keeping it in position a quarter of a minute.] 
To substantiate what I say, with your permission I will 
introduce the first witness, Mr. Moccasins. 



Mr. Moccasins shuffled the snow with his feet and 
looked terribly frightened, though it was palpably plain 
that he was exerting his power of self-control. 

Major. Mr. Moccasing, please tell the court and jury 
what you know about this fuss. 

Moccasins. Last night I and Hall, my partner there 
[indicating the corpse], with Jack Chips and a dozen 
others, were in the cabin yonder, playing cards and 
frolicking. About the middle of the night we were 
pretty well set up with hot rum, except Jack Chips, who 
was getting all the dust. Hall and myself thought he was 
playing foul, and we commenced watching. The last 
game we played, Jack got out four points ahead, and 
reached out his hand and covered the sack and raked it 
in. Hall jumped up and grabbed him, saying, "The 

shoved a card under the table ! " Jack said 

that Hall lied; but I found the queen-of-hearts under 
the table afterwards. Hall called him a liar, and Jack 
jerked a chunk of wood out of the fireplace and knocked 
him down. Jack then ran out of the cabin, this way. 
Hall got up and started after him, saying he'd lam the 
life out of the if he overtook him. Know- 
ing there 'd be a big fuss when they come together, I took 
a drink and followed. They clinched before I got to 'em, 
and Jack was on top, punching Hall terribly. Hall 
didn't seem to mind it a cursed bit. I caught hold of 
Jack and yanked him off, and struck him with my pistol. 
He ran away. When I spoke to Hall he didn't answer. 
I looked at him, and he was dead. I was too drunk to 
take him home through the snow. 

A juror here left his seat on the log, and took the bot- 
tles up to the cabin to have them filled. 

Another juror asked: " Did Jack have anything in his 
hand when you pulled him off? " 

Moccasins. No. He stooped down and picked up 
something, and when I saw it was a big knife I struck 
him with the pistol. 

Jack. That's a lie ! 

Moccasins. If you say I lie, I'll punch you in the snoot ! 
Jack. It's an infernal lie ! Come on ; you can't scare 

me ! 

Sheriff. Order, gents ; order in the court ! 

Jack. Do you think I'm going to stand here and allow 
an infernal thief to lie about me in that style? [Walking 
toward the witness, who turned pale.] Come on, if you 
want to smash my snoot ! 

The Judge and jury rose to their feet, and the court 
was in a general muddle, when the liquoring juror brought 
the bottle back. All hands stood around the stump and 
took a drink, and the trial went on. 

A Juror. Mr. Moccasins, you said when you spoke to 
Hall he did not answer, and when you looked at him he . 
was dead. Who killed him? 

Moccasins. Why, Jack did, of course, with the big 
knife. 

Jack. Gentlemen, that's impossible; I didn't have a 
big knife ; I never carry one. That lying hound killed 
him himself. If you won't stop him from lying, I will. 

[Grasping at an Allen's six-barreled pistol the Sheriff had 
in 'his belt.] 

The Sheriff shoved him off, however, and he failed in 
his purpose. 

Mr. Fuddlelaw seeing that his witness had lost color 
arid was trembling violently at the knees, began to sus- 
pect that he had the wrong side of the case, and that if 
he was to get his retaining fee and give his client a chance 
to escape, he must try another tack. So he said : 

"That will do, Mr. Moccasins; you can stand out. 
Your Honor, and gentlemen, this is all the testimony 
I propose to adduce ; and I think it quite sufficient to 
fasten the murder upon that man." 

And he pointed his left forefinger at Jack Chips. 

Major. Well, Mr. Chips, have you got any witnesses. 

Chips. I don't know. There is only one man here who 
knows that I never carry a knife that would make a wound 
like that. 

Major. Let him come in. 

Witness for the Defense. I know Mr. Chips. He has 
lived in a cabin close by mine for the last five or six 
weeks. I regard him as a quiet kind of man, for these 
times — rough times — exciting times. I never saw him 
have any other than a small jack-knife that he cuts his 
grub and tobacco with. I guess he's got it now. 

Chips pulled out a pocket-knife and opened it, holding 
it up to the jury. The blade was about three inches 
long, half an inch deep, and squarely blunt at the end. 

Chips. Gentlemen, this is the knife I carry always; 
and I don't carry any other. 

An outside man now spoke up, and said, " Here's a 
knife I found up there in the snow; "and exhibited an 
ivory-handled piece of steel, nearly large enough for an 
artilleryman's short-sword. 

" Let me see it," said Fuddlelaw. 

He looked at it with one eye, and at his witness with 
the other, for a moment, and then dropped it, point 
down, in the snow. It was stained with blood. 

The Sheriff pulled it out, examined it, made a carte, 
tierce and thrust, reversed the handle and passed it to 
the jury, with the remark : 

"A mucho grande cheeser 1" 

Juror. Is that your dadger? 

Chips. No, sir. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



Juror. Does any gentleman here own this knife? 
Nobody answered. 

Juror. Mr. Chips, do you know whose knife this is? 

Chips. I don't know, but I saw Moccasins with a 
thing like that yesterday. 

Major. Mr. Moccasing, stand up here. 

Fuddletaw. Your Honor, that's not customary — to re- 
call a witness who has been dismissed, except to cross- 
examine him on his own testimony. If you want to ask 
him any questions about the knife, you know a juror just 
inquired if it belonged to any gentleman present, and if 
it were Moccasins' he undoubtedly would have claimed 
it. I would have done so myself, if it were not that 
somebody might say I claimed things that did not belong 
to me. The whole of this case has been conducted in a 
very lax manner; but I have not objected heretofore, 

because . It's getting almighty cold down here, and I 

move we adjourn to the mill. 

Major. We'll just ask a question or two, and then ad- 
journ. Mr. Moccasing, is that your knife? 

Fuddlelaw. That's an irrelevant question. It has no 
bearing on the case whatever. We decline to answer it. 

Juror. I don't care whether it has any bearing or not; 
I want to know. 

Fuddlelaw. Well, Mr. Moccasins, you are at liberty to 
answer, if you choose, but blast me if I would ! 

Moccasins, with quivering lip, answered " yes." 

Juror. How did it become so bloody? 

Moccasins. We had liver for supper last night. I used 
that knife to cut it, and didn't wipe it after. 

Fuddklaw. Very reasonable, gentlemen. I had liver 
last night myself. It was an old Spanish bull it came 
out of, too ; and a fellow might as well eat putty saturated 
with a decoction of logwood, for all the good it does him. 
I've had a pain in my stomach ever since, and can't swal- 
low whiskey enough to alleviate it. Judge, pass the bot- 
tle. Gentlemen, join us in a drink. 

Major. How was it that the knife got out of your 
cabin into the snow where it was found? 

Maccasins. I lost it there soon after supper. 

Fuddklaw. I was in the mill last night and didn't see 
him have the knife there. I move we go to the cabin 
and have those dead marines on 4he stump galvanized. 
A fellow will get covered up here in the snow. [// had 
been snowing throughout the tria/.] We've been here four 
or five hours already. 

Juror. Come on, fellows. 

Fuddlelaw and Moccasins went up arm-in-arm, and 
all the rest as it suited them — much like a drove of sheep 
in a defile. Arrived at the cabin, Chips was made to 
stand drinks for the crowd, and treat to three bottles. 
After which the court opened anew. 

Major. Well, now, Chips, we can't stop here all night, 
so you can give your reasons why we shouldn't hang you ; 
but don't lie too much nor too long; Mr. Fuddlelaw's 
got to splurge and spout when you're done. 

Chips. Last night I was in here playing with Hall and 
Moccasins, and only once in a while they allowed me to 
take down the pot. They were playing together, and 
cheating at every turn. The last game we played, if there 
was any card under the table, one of them put it there. 
I did not ; I won the pot fairly. When I raked in the 
money, Hall rose off the bench and struck at me and 
grabbed for the sack. He used the meanest kind of lan- 
guage, and Moccasins backed him and tried to trip me 
up in the scuffle. Being satisfied that the show for me 
was bad, I started to go home. Hall followed me to the 
place we've been all day, caught hold of me, and said he 
wanted the money or a fight. I told him I would not 
give it up, and we commenced tussling for it. While 
skirmishing round, I got my heel against a rock and fell 
over, he on top. Just then Moccasins came up, and said, 

"Hold him, Hall; I'll settle the •!" I 

heard a blow ; the blood spirted in my face ; Hall fell off, 
and I got up and ran away. If any of you think I'm lying, 
go down there and see the hole through him. A man on 
the bottom couldn't strike such a blow, unless he was 
left-handed, and everybody that knows me knows that I 
am not ; nor could the man on top, if both were face to 
face and clinched. That's all I've got to say. 

A Juror. I never thought of that before. Hanged if 
the thing ain't considerably mixed ! 

Fuddlelaw commenced his harangue to the jury, arjd I 
went to supper. On my return, that gentleman was still 
holding forth vehemently, slashing his arms about, getting 
on and off a table, and scattering polysyllabic words all 
over the house. 

" I tell you, gentlemen," roared Fuddlelaw, " this man 
Chips is guilty of this crime, and should suffer for it. 
He has basely sought to lay the murder at the door of 
my innocent witness, Mr. Moccasins, yet — " 

" Stop, you cayote I" 

It was the voice of Chips. The pistol which he had 
snatched from the belt of the drunken Sheriff was cocked 
and leveled at a figure that shrunk and trembled on the 
threshold of the groggery. 

Fuddlelaw was silenced, the monte game stopped, and 
all eyes were turned upon the cowering creature in the 
doorway. 

" There's the man for you to hang," cried Chips, still 
keeping his weapon aimed. " You 've tried to get my 
neck stretched, Moccasins, by your lying, and you don't 



sneak off while I 'm around. Tell the truth now, or I '11 
bore a hole through you ! Who killed Hall, you or me? 
Spit it out !" 

"I — I did; b-but I thought it was you I was cuttin'," 
faltered the wretch. 

" Give him time to say his prayers if he wants to, gen- 
tlemen," commanded Chips, who half an hour later was 
superintending the lynching under the biggest oak on the 
hillside, a pistol-shot from the groggery ; " give him a show 
to let the Almighty know he's comin'." 

"Gentlemen," said Fuddlelaw, staggering up and 
speaking in a thick but impressive voice. " I protest in 
the name of the law. This business is cusscdly irreg- 
ular — infernally irregular." 

" There, now ; you stay there till you 're called for 
supper," was Chips' answer, as he pushed the lawyer over 
on his back in the snow. And there was that in the fel- 
low's eye which made the lawyer think it wise to lie 
there. 

"Mercy! Oh, boys, have mercy!" gurgled Mocca- 
sins, on his knees. 
" Hoist him !" shouted Chips. 

And the order was obeyed by the line of men holding 
the rope — headed by the Major and the jury. 



THE FUNNY OLD MAN IN THE MOON. 



BY R. E. WHITE. 



There s a man, people say, 

In the moon far away, 

And his face in the day you can't see; 

But when night-time is nigh, 

He appears in the sky — 

What a funny old man he must be! 

And the stars laugh and shout 

When the old man comes out, 

And Ihey sing to a rollicking tune 

While they dance with delight 

Through the long joyful night 

With the funny old man in the moon. 

All the stars form a ring 

Round the old man, and sing, 

And their songs are 01 gladness and mirth, 

As they join hand in hand 

Quite a frolicsome band. 

And dance like the children of earth. 

So the night flies along 

With their music and song, 

They are jolly companions and boon; 

But the gayest of all 

At this gay midnight ball 

Is the funny old man in the moon. 

When the sun opes his eyes 
In the far eastern skies 

And gets up to keep watch through the day, 

There's an end to the fun, 

All the dancing is done, 

And the little stars scamper away. 

Long the old man has stayed, 

So good-night must be said, 

For the sun bids him go, and go soon; 

So he winks with one eye, 

And he bids us good-bye — ' 

Does this funny old man in the moon. 



SUNDAY AMUSEMENTS. 

A fisticuff encounter which took place in front of the 
office of The San Franciscan on Sunday last shows how 
much the city suffers from the lack of Sabbath amuse- 
ments. A drunken fellow staggering along the street 
jostled against a dyspeptic individual, and presently both 
persons were exchanging blows, to their own satisfaction 
and that of a large crowd, comprising much political 
distinction and wealth. The inebriated contestant was 
soon compelled to "haul down his colors; but instead of 
retiring for the repairs which he sadly needed, he supple- 
mented his physical violence with a fierce verbal assault. 
This so exasperated the sober combatant that he 
wrenched a bludgeon from a bystander's hand and 
whacked his assailant over the head with such vicious en- 
ergy that the interposition of the Coroner seemed for a 
few moments to be very probable. There was hardly any 
question that the belabored drunkard deserved chastise- 
ment. It was equally plain that the chastiser preferred 
peace to pugilism, and was anxious to retire from the 
scene of the conflict, if he could do so without appearing 
to beat a retreat. He continually moved his ground to 
prevent a continuance of the strife, and after cudgeling 
his tormentor, withdrew to a bootblack stand on the 
other side of the street to have the dirt and mud of the 
battle swept from his clothes. 

Under the circumstances one would have thought that 
the band of solid taxpayers, influential politicians and 
peaceable fathers of large families would have stepped 
in to prevent more bloodshed, or at least have summoned 
the far distant policeman. Instead of following that law- 
ful line of conduct, however, every man of the five hun- 
dred deeply interested spectators gave his sympathy and 
encouragement to the belligerent drunkard, and insti- 
gated him to renew the combat. Finding the popular 
sentiment so strongly against him, the sober individual 
declined further hostilities and retreated to a neighboring 
drug-store. In his renewed eagerness for a battle, the 
pursuing inebriate mistook for his opponent a delighted 



spectator, and to the amazement of the latter dealt him a 
blow under the ear that lifted him over a hitching-post 
and spread him along the cobble-stones. The crowd 
howled with delight as the astonished and enraged vic- 
tim rose to his feet and in turn sent his assailant down. 
A roar of approbation followed as the irrepressible drunk- 
ard regained his feet and again floored his opponent. 
After several minutes of such amusement the inebriate 
became sufficiently sober to discover his mistake, and 
having apologized for his error, retired, leaving the battered 
citizen to pick up the fragments of the uncooked family 
dinner which he had under his arm when knocked down. 
By this time a policeman had come in from North Beach 
or Hunter's Point, and demanding information as to the 
whereabouts of the chief culprit, was Cheerfully referred 
to the non-combative dyspeptic hiding in the drug-store. 
Notwithstanding the protests of the latter, he was seized 
and hauled off to the station-house, amid the approving 
clamor of the crowd, which had no sympathy for a man 
so brutally selfish as to end an interesting fight with a 
club, instead of prolonging it with fisticuffs for the edifi- 
cation of several hundreds of his admiring townsmen. 

The frequency of such incidents explains the wild en- 
thusiasm with which the excitements of Mooneysville 
Sabbath pleasures were received. They also show that 
fortunes await the enterprising managers who will garnish 
the Sunday afternoon with some amusement more sensa- 
tional than the counting of the hours between the bom- 
bardment of Satan's stronghold and the triumphal march 
of His Majesty through the beer halls and dives of the 
city. 



HOW HIS' SALARY WAS RAISED. 



One of the principal ornaments of Mose Guntz's Mu- 
seum of Masculine Beauty lately began to show such 
signs of sudden prosperity that a rumor got around that 
his employer was thinking of filing a petition in bank- 
ruptcy. Hearing of the reflection on his integrity, the 
young man indignantly refuted the slander by adducing 
proofs that his unaccustomed affluence was but the out- 
come of an increase of salary. 

" I got the raise," said he, feelingly, " from the old 
man himself, and I never even asked him for it. One day 
the old man says to me as he went into his office : ' If a 
lady calls to see me tell her I'm out.' Soon after a girl 
called, and when I told her the old man was out she 
seemed mad as a wet hen, and asked if she couldn't 
leave a note for him. I said, 'Certainly, madam,' and 
handed her a pencil and blotter, and she wrote the note 
and gave me particular directions to deliver it. As soon 
as she'd gone I took the note in and handed it to the old 
man. He put on his glasses and looked hard at it several 
minutes and then he says : 

" ' Say, what did she write this note with?' 

" ' A No. 5 pencil, hard as a rock,' says I. 

"•'Yours?' 

" ' Yes, sir, mine ; I handed it to her.' 

" ' And what did she write it on — the desk?' 

" ' Yes, sir; but there was a blotter on top of it.' 

" '^Ah — hem — there was, eh? ' 

" ' Yes, sir.' 

" ' A very soft blotter, I suppose? ' 
" ' Oh, about the same as usual.' 
" ' H'm — could you let me see it? ' 
" ' Why, certainly,' I says, and I handed it to him. 
He looked at it thoughtfully for awhile and then he 
says : 

" ' You get a hundred a month, isn't it? ' 
" ' Yes, sir.' 

" ' After this 'twill be a hundred and fifty,' says he ; and 
that's all there was about it. 

" You see, a man t^ets no credit for advancing himself 
by honest industry," said the justly-offended youth, as he 
pulled down his vest and .posed himself to kill some stray 
beauty with the first look. 



A MAGNIFICENT SCHEME SPOILED. 



One day last fall a number of Virginians got together 
at Wheeling and organized a railroad company, with a 
capital of $30,000,000. Directors and officers were 
elected, a prospectus written, a memorial asking for a char- 
ter drawn up, and the meeting adjourned for one week. 
Two or three days later the President met one of the 
most enthusiastic of his co-laborers and said : 

" Our whole project is dished ! " 

"No!" 

" Surc's you live ! " 
" How's that?" 

" Why, yesterday I got a horse and rode over the first 
five miles of the proposed line. I discovered that we 
should need ten cattle-guards, six culverts and a $500 
bridge in that distance, making an outlay of at least 
$1,000, and we might as well lay down our cards." 

"Why, Colonel?" 

" Why? Because the whole idiotic gang of us will be 
dead-broke by the time we pay for the printing of that 
prospectus and give a reporter $5 for booming the 
project." 

"That's so — that's so," mused the other. "Why, 
Colonel, I never had the remotest idea that we should 
want to use a dollar except to buy French mirrors for the 
President's office." — Wall Street Neivs. 



A young man calls his sweetheart Kitty because she 
gets her back up so often. 



4 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



HEART-WRECKED. 



BY JOSEPH T. GOODMAN. 

With languid eyes, whose sight was dim 
With the incessant underswell 
Of tears that rose but never fell, 

She gazed out at the distant rim 

Of hills that circled round the manse, 

And watched expectant, with a hope 
That hushed a nursling of delight, 
For some one to come o'er the height 

And hasten joyfully down the slope 
Into her being's waste expanse. 

Her life was such an utter lack 

Of all she craved and needed most, 
Tr^t ne'er had been, or now was lost, 

It seemed that something must come back, 
Or something come to her anew; 

And in her wistful fantasy 

At times she saw vague shapes and shades 
Appear like stately cavalcades 

Along the outline of the sky, 

And trembled that her dream was true. 

But they came never down the slope; 
For while she dashed aside the tear 
To view the welcome forms more clear, 

They changed and melted from her hope. 
And so she famished day by day, 

Till the slow hunger of her heart 

Became a starving, frantic greed, 
That finding naught on which to feed 

In all the barren world apart, 

Returned and gnawed her heart away. 

The shades and shapes may come and fade 

Along the outline of the skies 

To baffle other longing eyes, 
But hers are vailed from shape and shade, 

And the keen wishfulncss and woe 
Arc quieted to peaceful rest ; 

I trust no future dawn will break 

Upon her sleep and bid her wake: 
To h»r all being were unblest — 
Eternal nothingness is best 

For hearts that yearn and hunger so. 



THE " LIVELY FANNY." 



BY D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 



Colonel Walker O. Dodge, when he had once made his 
pile, was one of the most generous and open-handed of 
men. He had one of those prodigious private fortunes 
which used never to be heard of or dreamed of until the 
citizens of the United States of America took to raising 
them. 

It had more than once occurred to Colonel Dodge that 
it would be a blessed and joyous thing actually to ex- 
pend in one year of his life a whole year's income, but he 
had always been a busy man and had never found time 
until lately to think the matter over. It came to him as 
a pleasant inspiration to build a yacht, the most magnifi- 
cent and gorgeous ever put together, and in it, with the 
society of fifty chosen guests, to make the tour of the 
navigable globe. 

When Colonel Dodge made up his mind about any- 
thing it was not his habit to let the grass grow under his 
feet, and within four-and-twenty hours of the bjfth of 
this fancy he was in conference with a shipbuilder. A 
week later plans were laid before him, modified and ac- 
cepted, and the Colonel and his maiden sister were 
already discussing the guests to be invited. 

The yacht was built, and the Colonel's sister broke a 
bottle of champagne over its bows at the launch and 
named it the "Lively Fanny," after a little dingy the 
Colonel had owned w hen he was a lad, and had chris- 
tened and painted with his own hand in affection for his 
only sister. 

Perhaps when a man loves his sister as the Colonel did 
he is cut out for an old bachelor ; perhaps when a woman 
loves her brother as the Colonel's sister did she is cut out 
for an old maid. People said they were too fond of each 
other and too much devoted to each other's happiness 
ever to marry; but perhaps, again, they could each have 
told a sentimental story had they been so minded — a story 
which would have involved no treachery to brotherly or 
sisterly affection, but would yet have shown that once 
on a time they had been willing to be parted from each 
other. 

In fullness of time the splendid craft was splendidly 
fitted, and, crowded with such stores as no craft ever held 
before, she sailed away with her full complement of pleas- 
ure-seekers, her little army of servants, her picked crew, 
her doctor, and her admirable band of musicians. 
* * * * * * * 

Mr. Dionysius O'Hara, a native of the city of Dublin, 
had migrated to the land of the Saxon oppressor, and after 
a residence of some years in London, had made acquaint- 
ance with a retired stockbroker, one John William Dodge, 
of Bayswater. Mr. Dodge had a daughter, a girl with rosy 
cheeks and bright eyes and red lips, and a bountiful 
armful of waist ; a girl with an innocent, affectionate 
nature, a healthy appetite, a natural laugh, and a very 
jewel-mine of a heart in the way of home affections. Miss 
Dodge had a mother, a fat, homely, smiling, sweet-natured 
old woman, who was a comfortable prophecy of what her 
daughter would come to in the space of twoscore years. 
Mr. O'Hara had been attracted by the charms of Miss 
Dodge ; Miss Dodge had in turn been attracted by the 
charms of Mr. O'Hara. The retired stockbroker being 
appealed to, had made strict inquiry into Mr. O'Hara 's 
financial position and prospects, and finding the result of 
that inquiry eminently unsatisfactory, had requested Mr. 
O'Hara not to call again. Then had the roses faded 
from the cheeks of Miss Dodge, and the kindly laughter 
from her lips, and the merry brightness from her eyes. 



Then had her natural appetite forsaken her, and the 
pearly teeth took to biting nothing but the pale lips, to 
keep them from trembling and to hold down in her 
father's presence the fountain of tears which played so 
freely in his absence. 

" My dear," said Mr. Dodge, to his wife, one morning, 
" I have been thinking that Fanny might be the better of 
a little change. There's Hackett has a yacht he wants 
either to let on hire or to sell. Now, I think a sea jaunt 
might freshen her up a bit and do her good. Perhaps," 
he added, facing the situation, "a little change of scenery 
might drive that Irish scoundrel out of her mind." 
, The retired stockbroker made all the necessary arrange- 
ments, and before the early summer was three weeks 
older Mr. Dodge's family was aboard, and bound for a 
cruise amongst the Shetland and the Orkney islands. 

For a day or two they were all three mournfully unwell, 
and when Mr. Dodge found his sea legs and his sea 
stomach, Miss Dodge was still a prisoner in her cabin. 
At last she came on deck, a woful sight, a sea-green dam- 
sel, and she could be persuaded to take no interest in any 
earthly thing. She ate less than ever, and the brand-new 
rosewood piano Dodge had expressly bought for her was 
left untouched, or the gay tunes the poor sad-hearted 
young thing tried to play quavered mournfully into silence 
under her fingers, and she would run back to her cabin 
and cry there until the solicitous mother followed her. 
The absent O'Hara had listened to those merry airs, and 
now their cadences called up the sad phantoms of remem- 
brance. 

" John," said Mrs. Dodge, " it's all a mistake. Fanny 
doesn't want fresh air. It does her no good. She's break- 
ing her heart over your cruelty." 

" My cruelty?" demanded the miserable man. " Did 
you say my cruelty? Go it, Matilda. I'm a cruel 
father, to be sure. That's a cruelty, isn't it?" He indi- 
cated the piano. " This is a cruelty, isn't it? " He in- 
dicated the yacht and the smiling landscape which lay in 
view through the saloon windows. " I'm enjoying my- 
self, ain't I?" 

" You don't mean to be cruel, John," said Mrs. Dodge, 
crying a little ; "but that's how she feels it, poor thing, 
and she's breaking her heart over it. And if you don't 
relent, she'll die. The sweetest child — the best " 

" Have it your own way," said the cruel father. 
" Marry her to any blackguard she chooses to take a fancy 
to. I won't have it said I killed my child." 

The end of it all was that they put about and ran into 
Belfast harbor and thence wired to Mr. O'Hara, request- 
ing him to join them ; and the little Fanny, learning the 
reason of their change of course from her mother, began 
so to blossom again, and to smile again, and to play and 
sing so sweetly her old gay ditties, that Mr. Dodge 
blamed his own precipitancy in yielding more than a 
little. 

In a brief space Mr. O'Hara, having contrived to raise 
the wind, came over and was taken aboard the yacht and 
carried away north, the happy maiden sailing with him 
to the land of love's full summer. 

That Dionysius loved Fanny was beyond a doubt. 
Where is the son of Frin who would not love the daugh- 
ter of a retired stockbroker, himself being impecunious? 
Or where, for that matter, is the son of Erin who can re- 
sist the soft influence of feminine charms when they are 
brought near to him? Let no wrong be done to Mr. 
O'Hara's susceptibilities. He could have loved any 
woman who had a prospect of two thousand a year, as 
Miss Dodge had, and he could have loved Miss Dodge 
herself without a penny, if he had been a millionaire and 
felt that he could afford it. 

Everything was gay and bright and beautiful, until one 
evening, an hour out from Portrush, a slight haze came 
on, and that majestic yacht, the " Lively Fanny" of New- 
York, ran straight into Mr. Dodge's small craft and cut 
her down. 

There was a prodigious sounding of fog-horns, and 
boats were lowered with all possible expedition. The 
big yacbt, after describing a liberal arc, got back to the 
little one and took her in tow ; but Mr. Dodge's hired 
vessel only survived until everybody had been got aboard 
Colonel Dodge 's ark of refuge and most of the valuables 
had been removed, when she gave a lurch and went down 
in twenty fathoms of water. _ 

While Mr. Dodge and his women folks were hurried 
below, Mr. O'Hara remained on deek and distributed his 
card with an air of great importance — " Mr. Dionysius 
O'Hara, Barrister-at-Law, Pump Court, Temple"— from 
which fact sprung up a habit aboard the " Lively Fanny " 
of alluding to the wrecked ladies and Mr. Dodge as 
"Mr. O'Hara's party." 

Now it goes without saying that everybody had heard 
of Colonel Dodge, and that the voyage of the " Lively 
Fanny " was a matter of public news. So that when the 
Colonel presented Miss Dodge to the gentleman who 
had been so strangely added to the ship's rating, Mr. 
O'Hara knew at once that he stood in the presence of a 
lady who was probably a better match than nine in ten 
of the heiresses of Europe, and he gazed upon her as a 
man looks upon that which is too good to be attainable. 
Yet — is the female heart absolutely unassailable when its 
owner has come to forty year? Is a plain and rather 
grim-looking woman any less likely than a pretty one to 
find love-making pleasant? Mr. O'Hara's experiences 
had been wide and varied, and his impudence was mon- 
umental. A woman's heart naturally pines for love — this 
was his philosophy — a plain woman is likely to meet with 
less of it than a pretty one, and therefore to value it the 
more highly when found — a middle-aged woman is always 
pleased to think herself still capable of inspiring a grand 
passion. 

He feigned ignorance of Colonel Dodge's financial 
position, and he attached himself to Miss Dodge from 
the first moment. When somebody among a knot of 
the more elderly of the Colonel's guests started playfully 
the question as to the time of life at which a woman is 
most charming, Mr. O'Hara boldly declared for the time 
between thirty-five and forty, and supported his position 
with Irish eloquence. 



"Spring has its beauties," he said, "but summer is 
lovelier; and approaching autumn is lovelier still. At 
five-and-thirty a true woman has entered upon the full 
possession of her charrums. If she is beautiful, she was 
never so beautiful as at that happy time ; and if mere out- 
ward beauty has been denoyed her, her heart and mind 
are at their best, her nature has roypened and solidified. 
For me own part, though I am an oydoloyser of the six, 
Oy denoy that a woman's chief charrum is her beauty or 
her youth. The chief beauty of a woman is her intuitive 
understanding and her power of sympathy. Ye foind 
these in the young, to be sure, but undeveloped. Forty 
is the true marriageable age. At forty a lady knows her 
own mind." 

Mr. O'Hara's Irish blandishments were not without 
effect upon Miss Dodge's mind, as was proved by a little 
conversation she held with her brother, the Colonel, next 
clay. 

" Walker," she said, " that Irishman's a thoroughpaced 
bad lot." 

" What's the matter with him?" inquired the Colonel. 

" He's engaged, against her father s wishes, to marry 
that pretty little girl," said the lady; "and do you see 
how he's behaving'? Have you remarked his conduct? " 

" No ! " said the Colonel. " What's he doing? " 

" Well, Walker," said the maiden lady, with a slight 
blush, " I am getting a little case-hardened, I allow, But 
I do feel a bit ashamed, for all that. He's making eyes 
at your dollars, Walker." 

The yacht lay at anchor, with the Giant's Causeway 
stretching out like a great pier near by, and the wild 
Antrim coast looking beautiful in the distance. 

Miss Dodge presented herself where two or three young 
ladies were Dusy with sketch-books, pencils and colors, 
transferring the Giant's Causeway and its scenic accesso- 
ries to paper. The little Fanny was smiling, for Dionysius 
was at ner elbow; but he lost not a moment in sliding to 
the side of the lady with the dollars. 

The lady of the dollars received him with unexpected 
gentleness and affability, and little by little she moved 
away from the knot of loungers who surrounded the ama- 
teurs of art, Mr. O'Hara following and growing more 
openly complimentary as he followed. She smiled at his 
compliments; at some of them she turned her head away. 
The poor little Fanny at a distance felt her heart sink and 
sicken when the dollared lady coquettishly smote Mr. 
O'Hara with her fan. 

It was a halcyon day for Mr. O'Hara, and the brightest 
hopes warmed his impressionable heart. He was so 
thoughtful and consMerate as to cast some of his joy 
upon the little Fanny, for when her elderly namesake had 
withdrawn, he devoted himself to his fiancee as warmly 
as ever. 

" Dion," said the girl, in tremulous affection and anger, 
• wnydo you pay so much attention to that old woman?" 

" Me dorlin ," cried Mr. O'Hara, in tenderest accents, 
" I trust I am a gentleman. I hope that me future wife 
will love me none the less that I denoy meself the charrum 
of her society in order to be polite to an elderly and un- 
attractive lady whose brother is compelled to entertain the 
party to which I belong." 

What could any little girl say to that? She felt that she 
had a right to be happy again, and confessed that she 
had been foolishly jealous. She owned in her affection- 
ate, simple way that she should be jealous of any one 
who came between her and her Dion, and her Dion an- 
swered sympathetically that he knew the value of her 
affection and appreciated her tenderness. 

" At the pace he's goin'," said the Colonel's sister to the 
Colonel, " it won't take him long to do the distance, 
Walker, and that's a fact." 

" I don't think it will," said the Colonel, in reply. 

There is nothing so killing as moonlight when you want 
to make love, and the insinuating O'Hara was fully aware 
of Luna's favorable influences. They had music on the 
deck that evening in the moonlight, and he did his in- 
sinuating utmost. 

There are undoubtedly men in the world to whom it 
would not have been easy to slip away from the confiding 
little woman who clung to Mr. O'Hara's arm, and lookea 
up to him with so tender and timid a smile ; but he found 
no difficulty in it. It was but to say " Excuse me for a 
moment, me heart's delight," and to slip away to the 
place where the elder Miss Dodge stood expectant of him, 
leaning her hard elbow on the rail of the vessel and look- 
ing at the reflection of the moonlight as it danced and 
shimmered in the water. The little Fanny stood and 
watched with a misgiving of which she was more than 
half ashamed. Surely she could trust her Dion after their 
interview of that afternoon, and all the kind and reassur- 
ing words he had s|X)ken. He had called the wealthy 
Miss Dodge "an elderly and unattractive lady," and 
though the little Fanny was rather disposed to like the 
wealthy Miss Dodge, the words had been sweet to her. 
Naturally she wanted her Dion to think poorly of all 
womanly attractions but her own. After what he had 
said to ner she would never, never, never be jealous any 
more. But why did he stay so long, and why did he lean 
in an attitude of so much tender interest over the figure of 
the lady? She would not be jealous. Jealousy was a 
wicked passion, surely; and surely there was nothing 
wicked in this sick sinking at the heart. 

Meanwhile Dionysius, not greatly caring to know what 
emotions troubled the childish breast of his fiancee, made 
warmer and warmer love to the elder Miss Dodge's dol- 
lars. 

" Oy am afraid," said the insinuating young man, " lest 
ye should catch cold, Miss Dodge. Shall we paece the 
deck for a whoile? " 

There was so tender an interest in the tone that the 
speech, simple as it was, spoke volumes to Miss Dodge's 
ears. The vessel swayed never so little, and when Dion 
offered the lady his arm as a support there was no reason 
apparent in the world against her acceptance of his aid. 
The little Fanny stayed behind w ith her heartache, and 
there was shadow beneath the topgallant forecastle. The 
promenaders paused there, and somehow by cunning ac- 
cident Mr. OT-Iara's hand touched the hand that rested 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



5 



on his arm. Miss Dodge made no motion of resentment, 
and the gentleman allowed his fingers to rest for a little 
time. Still Miss Dodge made no motion of resentment, 
and the thrill of assured victory shot through his heart as 
he took the bony digits gently and drew them further 
through his arm. It was scarcely worth while to finesse 
any longer, and he took to kissing the hand with ardor. 

" Mr. O'Hara!" said the lady, " you alarm me." 

"Loveliest of women!" returned Mr. O'Hara, and, 
with Irish fervor, set an arm around her waist, and kissed 
the hand anew. Miss Dodge trembled a little and 
escaped him. " Ye floy," said the gentleman, " loik the 
startled fawn." 

I must leave you," said the lady. " If you value my 
regard, Mr. O'Hara, don't follow me." 

" Tis a bitter sentence," said Dionysius, " but to hear 
you is to obey you." He knew that the style of love- 
making he employed was a little antiquated, but then so 
was the lady, and the degage style could never have won 
her. Miss Dodge went below, and Dionysius felt him- 
self a conqueror, and sunned himself in the most splendid 
auriferous dreams. 

Now whilst he ogled and sighed and the lady yielded 
to his blandishments, he evolved a scheme so safe and 
easy that he laughed to think of it. That night Dionysius 
sat down and penned an epistle that might fall into the 
hands of either lady and seem addressed to herself, and 
in it he begged for the companionship of the most charm- 
of her sex on the trip to the Causeway next morning, when 
he had something to say on which the whole happiness of 
his future depended. 

He found the elder Miss Dodge's own woman, and he 
tipped her with a sovereign and Dade her give the letter 
he nad written to Miss Dodge— not to her mistress, for he 
must be able, in view of possibilities, to declare that he 
was unacquainted with the woman's special position — but 
simply to Miss Dodge. The woman smiled and took the 
tip and the letter. 

* # * * * # * 

"I'll kick him overboard this minute!" said the 
Colonel. 

"Not yet, Walker," said the maiden lady. "It's ad- 
dressed to Miss Fanny Dodge, and there's not a word in 
it that mightn't have been written to the other Miss 
Fanny Dodge, and that's where the scoundrel has the 
pull. But you see that projectin' point of land this side 
the Giant's Causeway, Walker? " The Colonel nodded. 
" You can boot him there, if you like to follow and to be 
sure that there's no mistake." 

* * * * * * * 

"You really meant the note for me, Mr. O'Hara?" 
said the maiden lady, blushing. If she did not blush she 
hid her face behind her fan, and that did as 'well. 

" Can ye doubt it, madam? " said Mr. O'Hara. " Oh, 
let me throw the cold conventions to the wind — let me 
call ye Fanny!" 

"Who could have fallen in love so soon as you pro- 
fess to have done?" she asked. "How am I to believe 
you? " 

"Cruel beauty!" cried Mr. O'Hara; "why do ye 
doubt me? I loved ye from the hour I first beheld ye !" 

" I reckon you may come down now, Walker," said 
Miss Dodge. 

"I reckon I may," said the Colonel's voice in answer, 
and as Mr. O'Hara turned with a startled jump, he saw 
a gaunt figure rise on the rock below which all his ardor 
had been poured into the dollared lady's ears. 

"I suppose I may come as well," said Mr. Dodge, the 
retired stockbroker, in accents which belied the mildness 
of his w : ords. 

* * * * * * * 

It was one thing to think that Dionysius was true and 
breaking his heart in absence, and another to know that 
he was a shameless money-hunter who had been deserv- 
edly chastised. An honest young gentleman on the 
Stock Exchange — he may be something of a phenom- 
enon, but there he is — with a good heart, a decent in- 
come, and an unexceptionable mustache, has long since 
found a way to console the little Fanny; and when the 
two were married the other day, the bride received as a 
wedding present such a parure of pearls as no retired 
stockbroker ever gave his daughter in this world. This 
was a token of friendship and good-will from an elderly 
maiden lady, of whom Mr. Dodge never speaks except as 
the " Lively Fanny." — Longman's Magazine. 



" How much are you paying for poems this morning? " 
asked Baron Tennyson, recently, of a London publisher. 

"Allow me to look at your poem, my dear Baron," 
replied the publisher. 

"Oh, it isn't wretten yet," said the celebrated author 
of " 'Tis Only Good to be Noble." 

" H'm — we are somewhat crowded with poetry just 
now. If you will call around when the poem is finished 
we will look it over." 

" The Youths' Companion buys my poetry before I 
write it," mildly suggested the Baron. 

" Yes? Possibly we might also if we were a youths' 
companion," said the London publisher. 



A literary gentleman in this city is engaged on a book 
which is tolerably certain to create a stir when it appears. 
The author claims to have proof that Queen Victoria was 
secretly married to John Brown shortly after the death of 
the royal consort. He claims that Disraeli discovered the 
fact, and through threatening to disclose it secured his ad- 
vancement. The collected evidence in support of this 
remarkable theory is all to appear in this book. — Neiu 
York World. 

Scene: a restaurant. Characters: two high livers who 
have eaten — and imbibed generously. First High Liver, 
with maudlin solemnity—" And y'uve no chil'len ! Too 
bad ! So sad to think nobody'dcome afferyer !" Second 
High Liver (argumentatively) — " Dunno, bout 'at. 'Fi 
doan git home soon shoon wunner if m' wife came affer 
me." — Boston Gazette. 



THE TWADDLER. 



Last Sunday evening I strolled up to the residence of 
my friend Governor Stanford. The Governor is in 
Europe ; but, whether he is at home or not, I always have 
the entree. While I was lolling with fashionable ease, my 
heels upon the edge of the magnificent range, and en- 
gaged in conversation with a young lady whose beauty 
entitles her to her place as belle of the Governor's culinary 
staff, my confrere, the Call's Trifler, entered the kitchen 
with Miss Bavardin leaning on his arm. The latter pres- 
ently offered her practiced assistance to my chere a/nie, 
the belle, in washing the dishes; in return for which little 
service she received a great deal of valuable information 
respecting the movements of the haut ion. 

" Trifler," said I, "what the deuce docs our frere Un- 
dertones mean by booming the claw-hammer so assidu- 
ously in the Clironicle? Me and you and the rest of the 
writers on elegant topics have got to go to the opera 
occasionally, and if Undertones has his way, we shall 
be made disgustingly conspicuous. Has he raised his 
first claw-hammer, and wants all the world to know it?" 

" Persiflage," cried Trifler, "I'll tell you a secret. The 
heart of Undertones is not in his work. He's writing 
under orders from Mike de Young. It's Mike that's got 
a claw-hammer, and when he has it on he can't keep his 
mind off it. Mike hasn't always been used to wearing a 
claw-hammer, you know." 

" Egad, I should say not," was my answer. " I remem- 
ber him when it would have been agreeable to the feel- 
ings of a sensitive public if he'd had anything — even a 
big patch — to hide his shirt. However, he wasn't among 
the ' Prominent Persons Present ' in those days, and 
never thought he'd be doing the grand at the opera, cheek 
by jowl with the Count de Tocqueville and the other 
nobs. Is he really moving in good society — outside the 
columns of his own paper?" 

" Hush-h-h," whispered the Trifler," here comes Un- 
dertones." 

Sure enough, there he was; and presently — the belle 
and Miss Bavardin having finished washing the dishes — 
we were all just entering upon the discussion of a 
scandal that is delighting the elite, when the housekeeper 
came in with a face of vinegar and asked the belle if she 
didn't think it time to put out the lights. 

Women are curious creatures. They know a good deal 
about some things, but they are never able to understand 
literary men. I had a remarkable proof of this last Mon- 
day afternoon. There is a lady in San Rafael whose 
house has been open to me for years. She is an admirer 
of talent, and many's the time she's said to me as I left 
her door : " Don't be offended, Persiflage, please ; I 
know how hard it must be for a man of your genius to 
get along in the strife with the rude world." Then, when 
I'd open my hand on the way to the boat, I'd find a ten 
or a twenty. Her husband has*been equally delicate and 
friendly. Well, last Monday afternoon, I say, I saun- 
tered up the graveled path, swinging my cane and hum- 
ming a light air. My friend," Mrs. Opulent, sat in the 
bay window, embroidering, and I smiled my sweetest. 
Then I rang the door-bell and the servant came. I gave 
her one of my condescending nods and said : 

" Mrs. Opulent 's well, I hope? " 

" She is," was the answer, " but she's not at home." 

And, damme, if the hussy didn't slam the door in my 
face ! 

I staggered down the steps, and stood for a few seconds 
with my mouth open, staring at Mrs. Opulent, who still 
sat in the window and looked placidly in my direction, 
as if gazing through me at something beyond. 

I then conceived the idea that she did not care to see 
me, and, coughing in a haughty manner, I strode off. 

I learn that she took offense absurdly because I wrote 
her up. To tell the truth, I was hard up, and dashed off 
a sketch with a vulgar, lion-hunting sort of woman for my 
heroine, and used Mrs. Opulent's house for a setting. Of 
course a good many of her friends recognized the descrip- 
tion of the premises, and thought I meant the woman in 
my story for her. Only yesterday I saw her husband, 
and walking up to him I said, with my easy smile : 

" Opulent, you rich people don't make allowances for 
the straits that poverty drives genius to. It didn't cost 
your wife anything for me to use her house in my story, 
did it? " 

" You infernal blackguard — " he began, but I waved 
my hand with proud deprecation, and left the vulgar fel- 
low there on the street swearing. 

Ha, ha! When they read this I surmise that they'll 
learn that Persiflage is a man who knows how to revenge 
himself upon his enemies, though, on the other hand, he 
knows how to be grateful for favors. 

I am thinking of leaving the Bohemian Club, of which 
I have been a member ever since my friend Crocker be- 
came one. If he, the leader of our best society, I thought, 
can .afford to rub elbows with artists and actors, and 
such like, I certainly need not be afraid. There was only 
one vote against Crocker when his name was up ; the vote 
for me was unanimous. I've heard some of the members 
say since that they didn't know who I was when they 
voted for me. It's surprising how many men totally un- 
acquainted with the"best literature there are in the Bo- 



hemian Club. What I'm thinking of leaving for is the 
draught. It is perfectly frightful the way the wind gets 
into those rooms. Yesterday afternoon I was lounging in 
the window with Dan O'Connell, Charles Warren Stod- 
dard, and a dozen or two more of the leading local poets, 
when a breeze struck me in the back of the neck. At 
the moment I was in the act of bowing to a lady — she 
moves in the very best society ; her husband is a wealthy 
retired junk-dealer. The lady stood rooted to the side- 
walk in amazement — not because I had bowed to her, but 
because at the instant I did so I sneezed, and the sneeze 
blew out my double set of fine false teeth and the cigar I 
was smoking. Together they struck the window and 
broke it. A lot of the vulgar herd collected into a 
crowd on the sidewalk below. When I ran down — look- 
ing like a man of eighty, though I'm really only sixty, 
and pass easily for thirty-eight — the mob laughed at my 
sunken lips, and fairly howled when a gamin — one of the 
offspring of the canaille — picked up my grinders and fled 
with them, hooting at me triumphantly as I vainly pur- 
sued him. Fortunately, a policeman caught him and re- 
stored my property to me. I shall certainly think seriously 
about continuing to be a member of a club so ill-ven- 
tilated as to make such accidents possible. The whole 
upper ten thousand are giggling over the story. 



As I was moving along the promenade with the rest of 
the brilliant throng, last Saturday afternoon, I saw my 
military friend Colonel Granniss standing, in the first 
position, at the corner of Bush and Kearny. A glance 
at his soldierly figure reminded me of an incident of his 
visit to England a couple of years ago, which the Colonel 
related to me one evening, with natural pride, over a bottle 
of Roederer at Marchand's. He sauntered into Hyde 
Park on the occasion of a grand military review, and, 
sensibly enough, advanced from among the low mob to 
the open space reserved for the movements of the troops. 
An orderly approached him and ordered him back. 

" I'm an officer, sir," protested the Colonel ; " I'm an 
officer." 

" A hofficer hof vot?" asked the vulgar orderly. 
" An American officer, my man," explained the 
Colonel. 

The orderly called a captain, and when confronted by 
an equal, Colonel Granniss pulled from his breast pocket 
his commission in the California militia, signed by Gov- 
ernor Perkins and ornamented with a seal as big as a 
stove-lid and as red as Editor Upton's face. The Eng- 
lish captain glanced at it hastily, returned it, bowed, and 
led Colonel Granniss up to within a few feet of the royal 
carriage, where he was introduced to the Duke of Cam- 
bridge, with whom he discussed the relative strength of 
the European powers for some time. 

" Confound me, sir!" said the Colonel in narrating this 
pleasing episode, " confound me, but, patriot-soldier as 
I am, I have always had a better opinion of England 
from that day. The military men over there know how 
to honor a brother officer from America when they meet 
him. I regularly send the Duke copies of my after- 
dinner speeches, when the papers print 'em." 



My friend Governor Stoneman came down from Sac- 
ramento a few days ago, full of the extra session. " My 
dear Persiflage," said he, " I've made up my mind to get 
the boys together. The people are hot for it. I don't 
want to annoy my friend Stanford, and as he's off travel- 
ing, it seems like taking an unfair advantage of him. But 
hang it, what can I do?" 

" General," said I, firmly, " I want you to promise me 
one thing before you do it." 

" Here's my hand on it, Persiflage," said the Governor, 
who's a warm admirer of mine. 

"Then," I cried, " see Jim Johnson first." 

That settled it. Me and Johnson got the Governor out 
on a little run that night, and next morning he was a 
deuced deal more anxious about an extra bottle of soda- 
water than he was about an extra session. I don't know 
just how my friend James fixed it, for to tell the truth I 
took more interest in the convivial side of the evening 
than I did in its political purpose. I wish I could with- 
out breach of confidence tell some of the episodes of that 
jolly night; but Persiflage is a man of honor if he is 
nothing else, and knows how sensitive these great men 
are about letting the public see them when they are off 
their pedestals and their togas are under the table. 



I heard a good one about that witty dog Dan O'Con- 
nell at the club the other night. It seems my friend Dan 
was making a call at the house of one of the best families, 
and, finding it necessary to blow his nose, retired to the 
window. Unseen by O'Connell the enfant terrible was en- 
sconced there, and when Dan blew his blast this child 
startled him by the inquiry : 

" My gracious! Shan't I get you a clean handkerchief, 
Mr. O'Connell?" 

The laugh that went up from the fashionable people in 
the parlor behind him did not disconcert my cool friend. 
He replied calmly, in a tone that all could hear: 

" No, my little friend. I have acquired such skill in 
concealing a dirty one that I don't want to waste it! " 

Then Dan rejoined the stupefied company with that 
jaunty, society-drama air of his. Persiflage. 



6 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



SURLY MAX AND GOODFELLOW. 



There lived in San Francisco — once upon a time — two 
brothers, who went by the nicknames of Surlyman and 
(ioodfellow. They were partners in a lucrative business. 
The elder, Surlyman, was said to be penurious. The 
younger, Goodfellow, was known to give largely in charity ; 
to spend freely in every way. He offered up his earnings, 
affirmed his feminine admirers, to the memory of one to 
whom he had been engaged in early youth (he was about 
thirty-five when I knew him), and who had died suddenly 
upon the eve of their marriage. He had never since been 
seen to make love to any woman. To the sex in general, 
irrespective of age and appearance, he was always cour- 
teous, attentive, generous. Therefore, as he never singled 
out any one in particular for special attention, he gained 
from all women unceasing encomiums upon his romantic 
devotion to the memory of his dead lady-love. His free- 
handed manner with men earned for him from them the 
reputation of being the best fellow that ever lived. In 
fact, he was introduced to me as the most generous being 
into whom God ever put the breath of life. 

I had not known this paragon long when chance made 
me a witness of his proverbial generosity. It was during 
the Nilsson concert season. 

How many a straining effort of memory we California ns 
are spared by these rare and singular visits of celebrities 
to our far western slope. They furnish us with epochs, 
and so do away with the necessity, upon ordinary occa- 
sions, for accurate dates of year and month. 

I did not hear the Swedish Nightingale. I couldn't 
afford it. Hut I at least had the gratification, and highly 
delectable it proved, of flinging many an ill-natured, 
sour-grapish gibe at such of my acquaintances as I used 
to see, whenever I passed the corner of Kearny and Sut- 
ter streets, enjoying the delights of the seat-securing pro- 
cess, blocking for hours that sunless, wind-swept space 
between Sherman & Clay's and the Central Market. 
During one of my numerous halts upon the curbstone I 
espied among the weary, shivering throng my new friend, 
Goodfellow. 

" If you had your choice, which should it be, rheuma- 
tism or neuralgia? " I inquired, jocularly. 

" I'd put a messenger boy in the line," he said, amiably 
ignoring my query, "only that I gave away all my spare 
change on the way down, and I've nothing with me but 
the price of the seats." 

"Those boys are not to be trusted. They'd sell their 
place to any one who bid for it," I said, consolingly. I 
had no ulterior motive in my remark. At least, I wasn't 
conscious of one. 

" I feel quite guilty about such extravagance, giving six 
dollars for a couple of seats," said he, " especially as 
I have overdrawn already this month. But I wanted to 
show some politeness to a friend of my brother's, and of 
course I could not take him, being a stranger here, to the 
gallery. Besides, I don't believe I could resist Nilsson at 
any price. Music is my one passion." 

"A deuced safe one," laughed I. Goodfellow sighed 
and looked unhappy. I felt I had been brutal, remem- 
bering the dead lady-love, and repented my flippant re- 
mark. 

"Vi'lets! ten sens a bunch; three for a quarter." A 
pale-faced little girl thrust her wares under our noses. 

" Poor little soul," said Goodfellow. " If I had the 
money I 'd buy every flower in your basket, my child. 
But I haven't a spare dime. Ask this gentleman. I'm 
sure he'll take some from such a nice little girl." 

I didn't see any particular or unusual niceness about 
the brat. I don't care much for little girls, as a rule. 
And I hadn't any great amount ot small change, or big 
change either, for that matter, about me just then. But 
somehow, in the presence of one so noted for generosity, 
I couldn't let myself appear mean. I took three bunches 
of violets. By the child's look, however, I saw that her 
gratitude went to Goodfellow for his suggestion, not to 
me for my act. I felt like throwing the flowers at his 
head. 

At that moment a young lady known to us both came 
tripping across Keamy street with Officer Peckinpah's 
protecting forefinger under her left elbow. " A sweet, 
artless little creature," commented Goodfellow, as she 
approached. She stopped to speak to us. Topic, need- 
less to say, Nilsson. She supposed she would be the only 
one in all the whole town who would not hear the great 
songstress, plaintively declared this artless maiden. The 
prices were so high. Who could sit in the gallery, you 
know. And moreover, were she never so well supplied 
with the wherewithal, she had neither father, brother nor 
cousin to stand in line upon that dreary corner, and what 
ladv could possibly think of doing such a thing. 

Goodfellow was equal to the occasion and proved him- 
self worthy of his name. 

" I had promised myself the pleasure of sending you 
seats for the first night," he amiably lied to her. "If 
you will permit me that happiness — " 

Exclamations of surprise, gratitude, prohibition, re- 
fusal and acceptance, all in one breath and one sentence ; 
and Goodfellow had won for himself a new proclaimer of 
his generosity and general goodness. 

' ' I 'm glad I had it in my power to please the pocr 
little thing, even at the sacrifice of my own pleasure," 



said Goodfellow, as the girl passed on ; " for of course I 
shall have to give up the first concert in order to fulfill 

my promise to her, unless How unlucky that I 

should have come here with but six dollars in my pocket. 
I really wanted to show that friend of my brother's some 
kindness, and he may be offended at being postponed. 
I don't see any one in the line that I know. Perhaps 
you could oblige me — " 

"I'm awfully sorry, but I'm flat broke myself," I 
answered. 

"Well, well; never mind. If the best seats are gone 
when I come again, I must only take them in the gallery, 
and trust to luck that my brother's friend won't be of- 
fended." 

" Why not postpone that girl?" I proposed. 
" Impossible. I could not disappoint a lady. By the 
by, I'd like to send off the tickets as soon as I get them. 
I sup|jose you have at least a quarter about you, for a mes- 
senger boy? " 

Those were hard times with me. A quarter more or 
less was upon some occasions a serious matter to me. 
This was such an occasion. To any other man of my 
acquaintance I should have suggested a two-cent stamp. 
In the presence of such self-sacrificing generosity I was 
ashamed even of the meanness of the unuttered thought. 
I lent him the quarter, 

Three days after I met Jones, a recent arrival from 
China. Had he heard Nilsson yet? Oh, yes ; he had been 
to her first concert, with that excellent creature Goodfel- 
low, and they had occupied some of the best seats in the 
house. Absorbed in wondering how my generous friend 
had managed to get out of his little difficulty so cleverly, 
I lost Jones's valuable comments upon the music. The 
same afternoon I encountered two ladies of my acquaint- 
ance, mother and daughter. Materfamilias was some- 
what overdressed, and loud of speech. The daughter, a 
refined, engaging little girl, made herself still more be- 
witching by the severe simplicity of the garments in which 
she arrayed her Hebe-like form. Had they been to hear 
Nilsson? Materfamilias replied for both, while Hebe 
looked uneasy and distressed. She cared too little for 
concerts to be bothered going, she said ; her daughter had 
been anxious to go, and had depended u(xin Surlyman to 
take her to the first concert. But there had been some 
difficulty about getting seats. She had been postponed. 
Girls took such slights easily in these days. In her time 
a girl's pride would have been roused to resent them, 
unless they were fully explained and apologized for. What 
the precise trouble was had not been made very clear. 
But it was easy to guess. This offering of premiums for 
seats could not fail to be a temptation to one of Surly- 
man's peculiar idiosyncrasy. She didn't blame him. It 
was his nature, and no man was responsible for that. 
What a contrast there was between those two brothers ! 
If ever there lived a truly generous, kind-hearted man, it 
was Goodfellow. Why, he had sent seats — two of the very 
best in the house — to her daughter's most particular friend, 
a girl who scarcely knew him. He had found no diffi- 
culty in securing them. 

It was a pretty generally known fact that Surlyman was, 
in spite of maternal displeasure, Hebe's most favored 
admirer. A struggle between her loyalty to him and her 
filial respect was flushing and paling the girl's cheek while 
her mother spoke. One little shot she could not with- 
hold : " Perhaps," she remarked, " people really owed as 
much to the closeness of one brother as to the liberality 
of the other. To give, one must possess, and no business 
could long survive the management of two such generous 
partners." I thought the little woman had hit the nail 
squarely upon its head. 

I did not need to learn the fact from Goodfellow him- 
self to know whence came the concert tickets which had 
helped him out of his dilemma. I had never yet met 
Surlyman. From that moment I was anxious to make 
his acquaintance. I had no difficulty in achieving my 
end. When I expressed my desire to Goodfellow he at 
once asked me to dine with him. 

The brothers kept bachelor-hall. Surlyman was the 
elder by three years, but Goodfellow played the part of 
host. He did the honors of the table. It was he who 
carved, he who pressed the best bits upon me, he who 
kept my glass full. He ordered out an extra choice brand 
of wine, which it was easy to see was as the apple of his 
eye to Surlyman, and urged me to accept a dozen or two 
of it. He offered to lend me a book which I chanced to 
pick up and express some curiosity about. Later, it 
developed that his brother, not he, was reading it. I 
have no doubt that if he had been he would have lent it 
just as quickly, but that another person under the same 
circumstances might be more loath to part with it than 
he, seemed never to occur to him. He invited me to 
drive on the morrow— with his brother's horses. Whether 
Surlyman might not wish to make use of them himself, 
passed apparently unconsidered. Surlyman belonged to 
a certain club. Goodfellow had no doubt that he would 
take great pleasure in proposing my name if I cared to 
become a member. All throueh this most trying ordeal 
Surlyman sat quite silent, looking gloomy and morose. 
His sobriquet certainly appeared to be no misnomer. He 
wasn't surly, though, for when I found an opportunity at 
last to address to him a question, he replied pleasantly 
enough. In his place f I fancy I should have played a 



very different part. I would have struck the table with 
my fist till the dishes clashed together and broke, and 
cried aloud, " Damn it, Goodfellow, give a man a chance 
to be generous with his own." 

Here was the secret, plainly revealed to me, of the 
brothers' reputation. The one gave the other no oppor- 
tunity to be generous, and the other was so amiable, or 
so weak, which you will, as to submit. What he did 
give, and I soon found that he gave much, was always at 
the suggestion of Goodfellow, and as the latter had re- 
ceived the gratitude of the little flower-girl for whose vio- 
lets I had paid, so he intercepted, as it were, the credit 
due to his brother. If Goodfellow bestowed his best 
coat upon a beggar he was lauded and magnified for his 
generosity. But for the credit of the firm he must wear 
a good coat ; so Surlyman, from his share of profits, 
would provide the garment and send his own, in conse- 
quence, to the scourer. 

I liked Surlyman, and I pitied him. He was not quick 
enough, or bold enough, or selfish enough, to escape from 
the upas shadow of his brother's generosity. It was dark- 
ening his existence, and he knew that it was. But he 
made no effort to free himself. 

Well, it was not long before Goodfellow went East upon 
business for the firm. He had not been gone many 
weeks when news came of his engagement— yes, of the 
engagement to be married, and to an heiress at that, of 
the man whose whole being was supposed to be devoted 
to the memory of the dead. I didn't blame him. No- 
body could with reason. There was nothing blamable 
in the fact itself. But somehow it did seem a little out of 
keeping with the reputation and manner of the man. 
Almost simultaneously with the intelligence of Goodfel- 
low's engagement a rumor relating toSurlyman made itself 
place among the current gossip of the hour. No one 
seemed to start it. Nobody could tell its source. Such 
reports appear to be charged with a mysterious expansive 
force which spreads them far abroad, all in a moment. 
Every one whispered to every one else that a woman of 
doubtful — or I might more fitly say, ////doubted— reputa- 
tion, a Tivoli girl or one of the same ilk, had set up a 
claim to be the lawfu} wife of Surlyman. All the town 
pronounced it no more than they had expected. The 
little soreness toward Goodfellow which had followed the 
announcement of his engagement turned to profound 
sympathy for the discredit to him and possible hindrance 
of his marriage which would result from the disgrace 
brought upon his name by Surlyman. Whether the claim 
made upon the latter proved valid or not, he was justly 
served, said the softer sex, for having to do with such 
creatures; while the men told each other that if he had 
professed less abhorrence of the genus Maritornes he 
would have had more of their pity. I was not surprised 
to hear next that he had been forbidden the house by the 
mater of little Hebe. Perhaps many will think that it 
was no business of mine to interfere in the matter. But 
my interest in Surlyman had been too thoroughly aroused 
to permit of my letting slip any opportunity which offered 
of learning more of the facts of the case. I knew a man 
who was acquainted with Maritornes. I got him to take 
me to her. She was introduced under the surname of the 
brothers, the title she claimed for herself and child. I 
found her a vulgar, uneducated little hoodlum, with 
nothing about her that I could perceive in the least de- 
gree calculated to take the fancy of a man of any refine- 
ment. From her I learned what took me straight to 
Surlyman. I found him sitting alone in his office, idle 
and dejected. He roused himself and assumed an air of 
mingled pride and defiance as I entered. I went direct 
to the heart of my object in coming there. 

" Why do you let this lie that has got out about you go 
unrefuted? " I asked abruptly. " What motive have you 
for assuming the blame of your brother's misdoings?" 

He started, paled, put out his hand pleadingly, and 
looked distressed. 

" It would ruin him," he cried. " This woman has no 
legal claim upon him. I can easily settle all that. But 
the esclandre would no doubt cause the rupture of his en- 
gagement. I do not really mind what they say of me. 
Out here such things are soon forgotten. But where he is 
now— with the people into whose family he would marry— 
things are different." 
" And what of your own engagement? " 
He turned partly aside to hide his face from me, but 
he could not quite steady his tone when he sjxjke. 

"If she can believe it," — he began; but he never fin- 
ished his sentence. She did not believe it, little darling. 
At that moment in came a dapper little district messen- 
ger, with a missive of decidedly feminine origin in his 
hand, to prove that she didn't. Surlyman's face, as he 
read, told me all I wanted to know. I could see reflected 
in it every tender expression of love, every dashed and 
redashed assurance of faith in his goodness and truth. 
If little Hebe had been there I should have kissed her in 
my delight at her fealty and fearlessness. To my intense 
chagrin that sweet little note got no reply. He would 
send one later he told the boy, and dismissed him. 

" A devilish Quixotish one I'm afraid it will be," I said 
hotly. I expected him to turn on me in anger. But he 
didn't. He did not even appear surprised at the knowl- 
edge of unexplained facts which my remark revealed. 
He had no room, doubtless,}for any feeling but the keen 
pleasure that note had given him. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



7 



" For her sake," he said quietly, as he turned to his 
desk with an air too palpably expressive of dismissal to be 
misunderstood, " I regret the mistake, for she tells me 
people delight in coming to her with elaborate details of 
this affair. Otherwise — " 

I waited for no more, but turned upon my heel and 
left the room, without a word of farewell. I wanted him 
to think me angry, lest, suspecting my design, he might 
frustrate it by laying an embargo upon my actions. I 
went direct to Hebe's house, confronted materfamilias, 
and explained the whole affair. Having utterly demol- 
ished her, I repaired to the club and told my story there. 
In the evening I made half a dozen calls, and everywhere 
I went I painted the facts in their true colors. Result : 
Before noon next day public opinion had veered com- 
pletely round, and Surlyman became the hero of the 
hour. To my immense regret, Goodfellow, in spite of 
the truth being known, secured his heiress. Perhaps, 
however, it was best so for his brother, as he settled among 
his new relatives in the East, where, by the by, his gen- 
erosity and charity have become as noted and highly 
commended as they ever were here. 

Did Surlyman marry Hebe? Of course he did. I 
danced at the wedding and got a kiss from the bride. 
They are to-day the happiest couple alive. Now that 
Surlyman has a chance to originate his own deeds of 
kindness, which are manifold, and get the credit of such 
acts, he is regarded as the most genial and open-handed 
of men, and a more popular one does not exist. 



A TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY VISION. 



BY W. A. SELKIRK. 

Was it all a dream ? 

I sat meditating on subjects appropriate to the anni- 
versary of his birth who was " first in war, first in peace, 
and first in the hearts of his countrymen," when out from 
the haze which overhung the great city, and in through 
my open window, floated the shadowy form of the august 
author of the Declaration of Independence, the sage to 
whom the profoundest of contemporary statesmen ren- 
dered obeisance, the father and the founder of the Dem- 
ocratic party of America. Upon his brow he bore the 
imprint of anxious, troubled thought and deep concern. 
I bowed my head in reverent awe and mentally made 
question as to the cause of this. Thus answered the 
transparent semblance of his mind : 

"It is not that I regret or would undo my past; not 
that my disembodied soul would make return to earth, 
renew incarnate life, to again take part in the affairs of 
men, contend for added honors and a higher fame, or 
strive to mold the destinies of men and nations. Even 
though I were returned and re-embodied in my mortal 
frame, endowed with added and maturer mental powers; 
and even though the great body of my countrymen should 
feel and plead that the public weal imperatively de- 
manded renewal of official service at my hands; and 
even though a sense of patriotic duty should impel me to 
revoke my voluntary firm adjurement of the duties and 
the cares of office ; yet is there one of my official utter- 
ances—deep graven on the pages of our country's his- 
tory—which must needs prove an impassable barrier to 
the fulfillment of the public will. To the author of that 
fateful sentence, ' Equal rights to all, special privileges to 
none,' the corporations would be irrevocably opposed. 
But my spirit has been invoked to the performance of a 
duty which, without sacrifice of principle or revokal of 
any pledge it might perform — to lend its presence and 
shed its influence in approaching convocations of the 
party which ascribes to me the title of its founder. But 
to the performance of this grateful and congenial duty 
an obstacle is interposed which much perturbs my soul. 
Into those councils I fain would bear but fraternal con- 
cord and harmonious unity of righteous purpose to sub- 
serve the public weal. The more surely to accomplish 
this, which standard shall my spirit perch upon— Chris 
Buckley's, or Dick Carroll's?" 

I pointed the illustrious author of the " Resolutions of 
'98" to those of the State Central Committee and the 
several precinct clubs, respectively. The spirit sighed, 
floated outward and upward, paused for an instant over 
the Presidio, took a glimpse at General Dimond's troops 
engaged in their sham battle, assumed an air of satisfac- 
tion that the country of his love is still safe against 
domestic insurrection or invasion by a foreign foe ; smiled, 
collapsed and vanished. 

Was it all a dream ? 



Corporal (instructing company): "If you capture a 
man while on duty you should pen him in the sentry- 
box. Now, Private Wachhuber, what would you do if 
the prisoner would not go in?" Wachhuber (with a 
self-satisfied smile)—" Oh, but he would go in." Cor- 
poral— " Yes, but if he would not go in, what then?" 
Wachhuber—" Why, the sentry-box would have to be en- 
larged." — German Joke. 

At a Lake Erie pleasure resort last summer a certain 
small party of young ladies were out for a sail. The 
yacht was managed by a handsome young boatman, who 
unconsciously made a mash on the jolly girls. 

" Shall I hug the shore? " asked the sailor. 

" Well— yes— if ^that'sjthe best you can do," was the 
reply of one of the girls. — 77i<; Hoosier. 



MORAL VALUE OF BLACKGUARDISM. 



The numerous escapades of Slogger Sullivan have 
forced on the public the conviction that the Boston pugil- 
ist is very much of a rough, whose highest idea of amuse- 
ment is to participate in the excitement of a drunken 
brawl. Strange as it may appear to many persons whose 
estimate of human virtue and intellectuality is rather 
high, this conviction of Mr. Sullivan's unworthiness has 
been reluctantly arrived at. The great mass of humanity 
are not endowed with that patient spirit which obeys the 
scriptural behest to alternate the cheeks to suit the 
convenience of the smiter. On the contrary, the average 
man, when touched by the hand of brotherly animosity, 
turns his unsmitten cheek from the threatened blow and 
presents only his angry fist to the assailant. This being 
the disposition of the ordinary person, and ordinary per- 
sons being vastly in the majority, it is only natural that 
a man who can return buffet for blow with compound 
interest should be viewed with respect. Deep planted in 
the breast of every man who is fit to cope with the ad- 
versities of everyday life is a sincere admiration for 
physical power, in whatever form it may be exhibited. 
This phase of moral strabismus, so to speak, is a pro- 
nounced characteristic of the Anglo-Saxon race, with 
whom the measure of worthiness is success in every under- 
taking. 

The sentiment which accords all praise and respect 
to the strong and withholds sympathy from the weak, 
may not be highly Christian, but it is thoroughly in accord 
with the law of the survival of the fittest, of which the 
Anglo-Saxon race is itself an exemplification. Profiting by 
the unconscious obedience accorded by mankind to the 
mightiest law of nature, the prize-fighter obtains an 
amount of sincere admiration which seems wholly dispro- 
portionate to the dignity of his calling. He may be crim- 
inal in the eyes of human justice, but as long as he 
abstains from the sin of intemperance he does not se- 
riously offend the laws that implanted in his heart the 
instinct of pugnacity. It is the same instinct held in 
check by the moral qualities that makes the leaders of 
mankind in every department, from the camp to the pul- 
pit. It is the assertive force of the latent pugnacity of 
human nature that places a fringe of respectability round 
every prize-ring. It is the dormant instinct to strife that 
makes the most peaceful and law-abiding citizen wade 
through a long report of a prize-fight when he could not 
find time to scan a three-line item relative to any other 
science or art. 

Possessing such a respect for the combative quality, the 
average citizen cannot easily divest himself of the sneak- 
ing regard which he entertains for any distinguished pro- 
fessor of the art of pummeling. The gladiator, with his 
prodigious muscular strength and his developed physical 
courage, may not be the ordinary citizen's ideal of a truly 
great man, but he is at least the shadow of it. All that 
the invincible knight of the knuckles needs to make 
him a real hero in the popular estimation is a slight re- 
gard for the proprieties of life ; and having that, lasting 
celebrity and fortune are within his grasp. Hence the 
reluctance with which the conviction was forced on the 
average citizen that the Boston professor of the manly 
art was not a slogger and a gentleman-, but a mere brutal 
prize-fighter and a blackguard. 

It is a somewhat amusing study to note the financial 
effect of this conclusion. Before the country had be- 
come convinced of Mr. Sullivan's unfitness for the aes- 
thetic tea-party and the recherche kettledrum it con- 
tributed $150,000 to his income. Our own city, in the 
implicitness of its faith in the Bostonian's social purity and 
high scholarship, received him with distinguished marks 
of approval and poured several thousands into his purse 
before he removed the popular delusion by his verbal 
misdeeds. Once hurled from the pedestal of his fictitious 
morality and culture, the cash value of Professor Sullivan's 
art depreciated with such alarming rapidity, that from be- 
ing the financial rival of Patti he became in forty-eight 
hours as devoid of pecuniary magnetism as Orator Kid- 
neys. He could not now draw as large a house to wit- 
ness his skill as could our esteemed contemporary, 
Brother Pixley, did he don the mittens in public: with his 
faithful adviser, Sconchin Maloney. It is exceedingly 
salutary that the prize-ring should have suffered so much 
in public estimation by the misdoings of its principal or- 
nament, for it has never been a graceful addition to 
modern civilization. It is not that the conflict of 
two trained athletes is such a debasing, brutal or dis- 
gusting spectacle. Our city offers nightly many peaceful 
exhibitions far more degrading and injurious to public 
morality than the sight of a pair of sturdy boxers sprin- 
kled with nasal blood. The evil lies, however, in the 
impossibility of preventing the prize-ring from becoming 
the nursery of loafers and thieves, and the recruiting 
ground for the |)enitentiary. Its temjjorary popularity in 
this country has been the means of filling our cities with 
a class of disreputable establishments known as "sport- 
ing houses," which do much to corrupt the youth of the 
community. 

The prize-ring is essentially a product of English 
feudalism, and attained its distinction by the patronage of 
the nobility. So irresistible, however, is the downward 
tendency of the institution that it soon slipped from, the 



patronage of the aristocracy and became the birthright of 
the criminal classes and the lever by which an ambitious 
thief could raise himself to the social prominence of a pot- 
house keeper. The prize-ring never flourished in America, 
and was apparently a forgotten disgrace, when it was re- 
vived with the epidemic of Anglo-mania which swept 
over the East, and is yet raging. It is one of the misfor- 
tunes of democracy that when it covets any of the cus- 
toms of an aristocracy it almost invariably selects the 
most undesirable. With the taste for English dog-carts. 
English clothes, and some of the other distinctive testi- 
monials of a British land-owner's gentility, came the re- 
vival of interest in the prize-ring and its train of attendant 
evils — the sporting-drum, the flash sporting newspa]>ers, 
and the army of native and imported sloggers, liberated 
from the penitentiaries or en-route to the same. The 
boxing fever attacked all parts of the country with equal 
virulence, and only expended its force when it reached 
the very borders of Western civilization. It is not certain 
that even in the far-off Arctic some germs of the disease 
did not find victims and create a rage for personal en- 
counter that could only be appeased by large consign- 
ments of boxing-gloves and sticking-plaster. 

We recall with amusement some incidents of the plague 
during the first months of its sway in this city. Old age 
or social condition were no safeguards against the malady, 
and even the gentler sex suffered to some extent. The 
writer remembers well one evening being unspeakably 
annoyed by hearing, at the dinner table of a leading hotel, 
some of the first ladies of the state discussing the possibili- 
ties of Tug Wilson withstanding the assaults of the Boston 
slogger. The conversation was quite spirited, and the 
technical knowledge displayed was so remarkable that one 
would have thought prize-fighting was as fashionable and 
frequent as the legitimate drama. Neither does the writer 
forget how one fine summer afternoon he was led into the 
gloom of a back room up town to see a venerable officer 
of the municipal government and a sporting barber engage 
in a friendly trial of skill with the gloves. The officer, 
it appeared, had been discussing the universal topic with 
the barber, and the inevitable result was a comparison of 
pugilistic merit and an adjournment to a convenient 
room. Neither contestant was on the sunny side of sixty, 
and rheumatism and the other ills consequent on pioneer 
life, with its exciting concomitants of salt pork and raw 
whisky, had heavily discounted their vitality. Neverthe- 
less this pair of venerable victims of the epidemic set to 
with a violence that would have been terrific in its con- 
sequences, had not exhausted nature forced an armistice 
at the very commencement of the battle. Many other 
ludicrous events of a similar kind crowd the memory as I 
write, and if narrated with the names of the actors in each 
comedy, would create discord in family circles now united 
by peace and respect. 

All this ebullition of pugnacity was the result of the 
pent-up admiration for physical prowess to which refer- 
ence has already been made by way of apology for the 
universal interest in such a noted scalawag as the slogger 
Sullivan. The epidemic of Anglo-mania and the sj>oradic 
germs of pugilism which scattered over the country paved 
the way for the reception of the fiction put forth by show- 
men that a professional pugilist and a peaceable gentle- 
man could be synonymous and identical. With all its 
faults the public admires decency of conduct, or even the 
assumption of virtue when not possessed. It was to this 
weakness that the Boston slogger should have accredited 
his marvelous ability to gather dollars as he progressed 
with his commendable work of removing a popular hal- 
lucination about himself and his tribe. Now that the 
country has seen the idols of the prize-ring, and knows 
how far a professional pugilist can fall short of being a 
gentleman, or a man gentle enough for all ordinary pur- 
poses, the romance of respectability has been swept away 
and the reality becomes apparent that the prize-ring 
should be relegated to the proprietorship of its former 
patrons — the professed thieves and loafers of the commu- 
nity. With the stakes and the ropes of the ring should 
pass from public sight the offensive prints which scatter 
for weekly admiration the villainous countenances of the 
professors of the manly art and the more repulsive fea- 
tures of that most disreputable class known as " sporting 
men." The godly could take Mr. Sullivan as an illustra- 
tion of the aphorism that Providence moves mysteriously 
in the performance of its wonders. It probably never oc- 
curred to the eminent slogger that every time he drank 
champagne out of a beer-glass, " sassed " a Pritish col- 
onial official, talked back to an audience and licked a 
New Zealander, he was assisting in the great work of 
placing mankind on a higher moral plane. But he was, 
nevertheless; and some day, when he shall have grown 
older and poorer and been whipped out of his boots by 
some rival slogger, he may, like some of his noted prede- 
cessors, concentrate his wits on theology and discover how 
much of a reformer and philanthropist he has been. And 
if he continue to grow worse, so that he can boast truth- 
fully of the enormity of the crimes that he committed in 
the zeal of his philanthropic labors, he may also make 
money out of his theological devotions. 



A puma in the Blue Mountain vicinity recently jumped 
forty feet. It is suspected he saw a female puma ap- 
proaching and recollected that it is leap-year,— Oil Ctty 
Blizzard. 



8 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 

PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY 
At 420 Kearny street by 
JOBKPH T. Goodman, Arthtr McEwf.n, Thomas E. Flynn. 

Subscription: $4 a year, postage paid; single copies Ten Cents. 
Advertisements: By the month, inch, $4; % inch, $5; 1 inch, $6; 2 
inches, $10: and all additional space $5 per inch. 

Newsdealers supplied by the San Francisco News Company, 210 Post st. 

ENTERED AT THE SAN FRANCISCO POSTOFFICE AS SECOND-CLASS MATTER. 

SAN FRANCISCO ----- MARCH 1, 1884 



GOVERNOR STONEMAN. 

What kind of a man is Governor Stoneman ? Is he a 
rascal, or merely a fool? We incline to the latter view, 
but perceive that the great majority of the people of the 
state are not so charitable. Those who were the most 
ardent partisans of the General, who worked hardest for 
his election, and who rejoiced most enthusiastically over 
it, are now the bitterest in their judgment of him. A lit- 
tle more than a year ago General Stoneman was the most 
popular man in the state. To-day he is despised and 
hated. If he should travel through the San Joaquin 
valley, there are towns which gave him big majorities 
where he would now be hooted. San Joaquin county, 
for example, gave him a solid delegation in the conven- 
tion which nominated him, and a tremendous vote on 
election day. Yet we find the Stockton yJ/r//7, one of the 
most intelligent, independent and courageous papers in 
the state, which supported Stoneman vigorously for the 
governorship, printing his portrait with the word " Fraud " 
lettered upon his forehead. We know of no organ of his 
party, not suspected of criminal intimacy with the 
Central Pacific, which speaks of the Governor with re- 
spect. The best that the Examiner, the leading Demo- 
cratic organ, can do. is to refrain from attacking him. It 
is plain that only prudential considerations of a party 
nature withhold it from following its angry inclination to 
fall upon him and rend him. Every anti-monopoly 
journal in the state, no matter what its political color, 
manifests contempt for the Governor. The only news- 
papers that show friendship for him are the railroad com- 
pany's organs, Republican as well as Democratic. 

Whichever way Governor Stoneman is looked at, he is a 
failure — a complete, absurd, disastrous and exasperating 
failure. Relieved by the confiding thousands who cheered 
and voted for him to be a man of high intelligence, great 
firmness of character and soldierly quickness of de- 
cision, experience has revealed to them that he is dull in 
intellect, feeble in will, and incapable of making up what 
mind he has when confronted by an emergency. Elected 
as the best individual representative of the anti-monopoly 
feeling in this railroad-plundered state, experience has 
shown him playing into the hands of the railroad com- 
pany at every turn. We say that we do not believe him 
to be a dishonest man, but if he had been bribed with a 
fortune by Stanford, Huntington and Crocker, he could 
not have done them better service than he has rendered 
since he has been in the Governor's office. His conduct 
fits the theory of bribery fully as well as does that of Car- 
penter and Humphreys. Possibly he has been bought by 
appeals to his political ambition. 

No doubt the inhabitants of the railroad warren at the 
corner of Fourth and Townsend streets view the situation 
with humorous enjoyment. Certainly it is their turn to 
laugh, for they have beaten the people most cleverly in 
the game of politics. The people rejoiced in the elec- 
tion of Stoneman and the Railroad Commission as a tre- 
mendous victory over the gang of bandits who operate 
the railroads of the state. It has turned out that they 
might as well have elected Stanford, Huntington and 
Crocker. 

If Stoneman were anything like the man the people 
supposed they were voting for when they elected him, he 
would have called the Legislature together in special ses- 
sion last summer. It was then that the " extraordinary 
occasion " arose, to meet which the Constitution has con- 
ferred power upon the Governor. Upon the return of 
the Railroad Commission from their tour down the San 
Toaquin valley there was not a sensible man in the state 
who did not perceive that Carpenter and Humphreys 
were partners in infamy with Cone and Beerstecher. The 
anger of the people broke loose against the villains, and 
the Governor was importuned from one end of the state 
to the other to give the Legislature a chance at them — 
either to kick them out of office or become sharer in 
their shame. But Stoneman sat stupidly blinking like a 
drunken man, without the courage to act as the people de- 
manded, and without the consideration to let them 
know at the beginning that their clamor for justice was 
useless. 



The occasion for an extra session is no more extraordi- 
nary now than it was nine months ago. The tax conflict 
is a minor matter. The situation is changed in but 
one important respect — the people have suffered an 
additional nine months of the robbery which Stone- 
man and Carpenter and Humphreys were put in office to 
end. The people, out of weariness and disgust, had long 
since stopped asking for an extra session, when the Gov- 
ernor, two weeks ago, suddenly popped up and startled 
the state by seeming to be wide awake to the fact that the 
Central Pacific brigands needed the lash of corrective 
legislation laid upon their backs. This renewed jwpular 
hope, but only to disappoint it. The Governor has gone 
to sleep again. 

Stoneman is in the hands of the band of sturdy villains 
who control the machinery of his party. They are enlisted 
in the service of the Central Pacific, and will take care to 
keep him asleep. When he shows signs of an inclination to 
rise, they ply him with a bottle labeled "The Senator- 
ship," and he falls back and snores again. 

Like most weak, dull men, Stoneman is very vain. 
The rascal politicians who surround him and manage him 
fill his ears with the cotton of their flattery so that they 
are deafened to the voice of the people. He is told that 
he is a great man, a conservative man, a safe man, and in 
the fuddled condition in which he usually is, is easily 
persuaded that a popular appeal to him to do his duty is 
an attempt to coerce him, which he owes it to his dignity 
to repel. So long as these men surround Stoneman, he 
will never be made to realize the fact that he is responsi- 
ble for the continuance of the brigandage of the Central 
Pacific, and until he does realize it he will not call upon 
the Legislature to come to the relief of the people. The 
able gentleman who wrote the Governor's recent letter 
should have read it over more carefully to him before giv- 
ing it to the press, for he has made Stoneman appear as 
one who knows fully the necessity of an extra session, but 
who yet regards those who agree with him as personal and 
political enemies. This absurd attitude is that of a luna- 
tic, and Governor Stoneman is not a lunatic. He is 
merely a fool. 



THE MARTYRDOM OF SALMI MORSE. 



The collective conscience must have felt a twinge at 
the news of poor Salmi Morse's suicide. The public al- 
lowed the pulpit and press to bully the harmless old man 
into the East river. That the pulpit feels any qualm over 
the tragical end of the author of the Passion Play, we have 
not the smallest suspicion. Secure in the consciousness 
of its unshakable righteousness, the pulpit probably re- 
gards Morse's shameful death as a judgment upon him 
for sacrilege. The press, which lent itself as a matter of 
business to the persecution of the old man by the 
preachers, has no conscience to be troubled. In making 
its pious howl against the Passion Play, the press sought 
to voice public opinion — or what it supposed was public 
opinion. The press, indeed, is in the habit of actually 
boasting that it does not try to lead public opinion, but 
to follow it ; it boasts that it is cowardly, and will sink 
its own judgment and falsely pretend to believe what it 
docs not believe, when it thinks that its master, the pub- 
lic, requires that clean little sacrifice. 

We are told that Morse cherished to the last the belief 
that his Passion Play would some day become popular. 
Shortly before his death he said to a friend, with pathetic 
hopefulness : "lam twenty years ahead of my time. I 
may not live to see it, but the time will come when my 
Passion Play will be performed in every city in the 
world." We do not think so. If a Passion Play is ever 
played in every city in the world, it will be of a better 
dramatic and literary quality than Morse's. But it will 
be more than twenty years before the sort of ferocious in- 
tolerance which assailed Morse as if he were a criminal 
will find itself without a cowardly press to help it roar a 
timid public into the meanness of standing by and seeing 
an unoffending man trampled to death. 

The writer saw the Passion Play when it was given at 
the Grand Opera House, some years ago. Asa spectacle 
it approached grandeur. But for the twaddle which the 
author had put into the mouths of his subordinate bibli- 
cal characters, the play would have been awe-inspiring 
and ennobling in its effect. There was not a suggestion 
of irreverence in the performance. A sensitive believer 
in Christianity, if a sensible person, could sit it out with- 
out a shock to his feelings. Yet the man who strove to 
place before the public the humble Galilean wanderer, 
moving and speaking with lofty dignity, was set upon 
with a fury that was shocking in itself and shameful to 
the time and country which permitted it to be successful. 

Those who mourn the decay of the power of the pul- 



pit should contemplate the dripping body of old Morse 
and be comforted. The pulpit's power for good may be 
waning, but assuredly its power for wrong is yet very 
great. It was strong enough to pursue this innocent old 
man from city to city ; to enlist the newspapers every- 
where in the war against him ; to induce Boards of Alder- 
men — pot-house politicians for the most part, drawing 
their moral sustenance from the saloons and their voting 
strength from the gutters — to raise the cross in their godly 
hands, and smite with that emblem of intolerant cruelty 
the man whose only crime was that he sought to tell the 
gospel story in a form new to us. Finally, the pulpit was 
strong enough to drive the victim of its persecution to his 
death ; and, now that he is beyond the reach of all its 
weapons save prayer, to compel the press to give him 
sneers and ridicule for his obituary. 

If Christ were to come to earth again, we should like to 
have his judgment on the war which has ended in the de- 
feat and martyrdom of his brother Jew. After he had 
studied the modern world for awhile, we should like to 
hear from him who sat among publicans and sinners and 
outraged the respectability of his time by the disreputa- 
bleness of the company he kept, where the scribes and 
pharisees he detested so cordially are most plentifully to 
be found to-day; we should like to hear from him, who 
does him least honor — the man who puts him in a play 
and shows him going about doing good and, getting his re- 
ward for it at the hands of the public executioner, or the 
men who in his name open temples to wealth, shun the 
poor, make social station a god, and deny by their acts 
the belief which they profess in his gentle, humane and 
generous teachings. We should like to have him decide 
for us wherein is the greater irreverence — making him 
walk before us solemnly as a god on a theater's stage, or 
the shouting out of his name in gross familiarity by 
frenzied revivalists, encouraged and supported by the 
churches. What would Christ think of the sen,e or sin- 
cerity of a pulpit which could be roused to cruel hostility 
by the Passion Play, deeming it a profanation of holy 
things, and yet can stomach without a protest the Salva- 
tion Army? 

The press and municipal authorities of the numerous 
cities where Morse was refused permission to give his play, 
fancied, as we have said, that they were bowing to public 
opinion. But they were not. They merely behaved 
cravenly in the face of a small portion of it. The mass of 
the people felt no more shock at the thought of Salmi 
Morse's Passion Play than the Christian world does at the 
thought of that analogous performance which is given every 
year at Oberammergau. The pulpit does not represent 
a very considerable part of the public in these days. The 
intellect of the age, which is flowing in scientific and lit- 
erary channels, has no respect for it. The tendency of 
popular thought, also, is away from the pulpit, which has 
lost its hold upon the hearts as well as the brains of the 
people. The pulpit is a shell from which the living thing 
has crawled. It is as large and strong to the eye as when 
it inclosed life, but it has only to be touched to have its 
hollowness exposed. It is like one of those bodies which 
are occasionally dug up — under glass it looks wonderfully 
life-like, but when the lid is lifted and the air rushes in, 
it crumbles to dust. The pulpit's guns of denunciation 
are Quaker guns, and the lions of its wrath are paper lions. 
But Quaker guns and paper lions look like the real things 
at a little distance ; and, as we generally fancy that other 
people are more stupid than ourselves, we suppose that 
though these harmless objects have no terrors for us, 
they must have for the mass of our neighbors. Thus we 
saw newspapers whose offices are filled with infidels, 
affecting a saintly horror at poor Morse's play, and poli- 
ticians with red noses and foul characters similarly pre- 
tending to a reverence for Christ, whose name is regarded 
by them chiefly as a convenient oath. If the author of 
the Passion Play had found one newspaper of prominence 
in New York bold enough to speak its mind honestly, he 
would have been alive now, and probably wealthy. If the 
Sun or Times or Herald, whose editors in their personal 
character laugh at the Quaker guns and paper lions, had 
been brave enough to say, " Why, in the name of con- 
sistency and common sense, should not this man be 
allowed to let the American public see and judge of this 
play for themselves? Why, when it is not held to be 
irreverent for the artist to give us pictures of Christ in oil, 
wood and marble, should it be regarded as sacrilege for 
the artist to give us a living dramatic picture of him ? Let 
the religionists who invoke the law to preserve the sacred- 
ness of their gods remember that the law here knows no 
god, or at least places all gods on an equality before it. 
Those whose feelings would be hurt by seeing Mr. Morse's 
play are under no necessity of going to see it. Other 
citizens should be at liberty to witness the spectacle if 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



they want to "—if even one of the foremost New York 
journals, we say, had had the courage to face the pulpit in 
this fashion, it would have crept back to the ground which 
is its own, as it always does when courageously met on its 
forays beyond its narrow bounds, in these latter days, 
when divorce from the state has made it depend for its 
support upon popular favor. 

There was no general public opinion hostile to the pre- 
sentation of the Passion Play, but people who sympathized 
with Morse — or rather with the principle of liberty which 
his enemies gave him the dignity of standing for — were 
made to believe that they were in a small minority. They 
dared not face the noisy anny, armed with its Quaker 
guns and paper lions, and as dreadful to the ear as a 
warlike host of gong-beating Chinamen. 

How much real fight there is left in the orthodox pul- 
pit is shown when Ingersoll or Beecher dashes through 
the country on a lecturing raid. The preachers rush to 
their holes in panic, and only creep out to squeak queru- 
lously when the iconoclasts have departed, leaving the 
temple of faith shaken and riven behind them. 

But Morse, the half-cracked old playwright, was an 
enemy of a size that they could manage ; and they have 
drowned him, in the name of Christ. 



MINISTER SARGENT. 



Minister Sargent did not kill Herr Lasker ; neither was 
it he who refused to present to the German Reichstag the 
resolutions of condolence adopted by our sympathetic 
House of Representatives; but if he had done both of 
these things, he could not be attacked more viciously 
than he has been by a number of our respected contem- 
poraries. Surely it cannot be contended that Mr. Sar- 
gent did anything but his duty when he handed the 
resolutions to Bismarck, and we have not seen it alleged 
that he was guilty of any reprehensible behavior while doing 
this. Why, therefore, should he be reviled? It takes a 
very deep mind indeed to see why Sargent's name 
should cut any figure at all in the controversy. We can 
understand why German editors should, feel sore toward 
him, and why they should jump at any pretext for hitting 
him. Our State Department stupidly gave publicity to a 
communication from Sargent, written with a frankness 
that was journalistic rather than diplomatic, in which the 
motives of the German government in excluding the 
American hog were discussed. The German editors 
made the mistake of supposing that Minister Sargent had 
given his views direct to the American press. They 
raised a row about it, and made themselves ridic- 
ulous. They can neither forgive Sargent for the con- 
struction which he placed upon their govern- 
ment's course, nor for their own blunder in 
charging him with grossly improper conduct of which 
he was not guilty. Naturally enough, Bismarck does 
not feel kindly toward our Minister, and, no doubt, 
lends his countenance to the howl going up for his recall. 
But there is no cause for any American journal to join in 
it ; on the contrary, there is every reason why the Ameri- 
can press and people should resent this German attack on 
our Minister. We owe the German government — which 
is Bismarck — no favors. It has excluded our pork, which 
is a material injury; it has slapped our House of Repre- 
sentatives in the face with the Lasker resolutions, which is 
a sentimental one. Now it conspires to recall a Minister 
whom our government sent to its court, because it does 
not like him to tell the truth as he sees it when he writes 
to our Department of State. For our part, we would see 
Bismarck at the devil before we should oblige him in any 
particular, and especially by gratifying his spite against 
an American official who has been guilty of nothing with 
which our government can find any fault. Bismarck is a 
great man, but not great enough to run our government in 
addition to that of Germany. 

The newspaper hostility here against Sargent is not on 
account of anything he has done in Germany. It dates 
back to the time when he was active in politics in Cal- 
ifornia. That part of his career ought not to have any 
bearing on the present affair. The President knew all 
about Sargent when he appointed him to the German mis- 
sion, and so, presumably, did the Senate when it con- 
firmed him. If he was over-friendly to the Central Pacific 
and managed the political machine in his own and his 
friends' interest, he was no worse than the average poli- 
tician. Some of the journalistic Chesterfields who are 
anxious to pay off old scores tell us that Sargent lacks 
those social graces which fit the diplomat for his delicate 
work. Possibly ; but if lack of polish is to be held as suf- 
ficient cause for the recall of an American minister, we 
should have very few of our present representatives 
abroad— which would be no great loss, as in this day of 



steam and electricity we could worry along pretty well 
without these costly ornaments. But Sargent is quite up 
to the average in his manners, and away beyond it in 
brains. 

If our government should dismiss Sargent from his 
post, it would do a mean and cowardly thing. If allowing 
him to remain will be regarded as a snub by Bismarck, 
that is the best of reasons for not recalling him. The 
German autocrat needs taking down a peg or two. 



CRANKS AND THEIR USES. 

A woman passed along Kearny street, one afternoon 
this week, who attracted a great deal of attention. People 
did not turn and look after her because she was very 
beautiful, famous for her genius, notorious for her mis- 
deeds, or because she was doing anything unusual. She 
was just walking along on the pro[>er side of the pavement, 
like the rest of the people. Her face was far from hand- 
some, and not by any means bright. She was past the 
age when men would compete for the favor of her 
attention. Yet this unknown, middle-aged, common- 
place woman drew as much notice as if she had been a 
great actress or a great criminal. 

She wore trowsers. 

A skirt came down to within a foot of her gaiters, but 
enough of the masculine garment was visible to let every- 
body know that it was there. Wherefore everybody 
turned, looked astonished, and then smiled or laughed. 
This ridiculous conspicuousness was the price the woman 
paid for her practical protest against the inconveniences 
and follies of the prevailing style of her sex's attire. Prob- 
ably the gratification of a love of distinction, got no mat- 
ter how, was her reward. Possibly the woman had an 
earnest purpose, and was willing to suffer ridicule for its 
sake. But whatever her motive for making herself ludi- 
crous, she deserves well of the world for being one of the 
noble army of cranks, who serve civilization by keep- 
ing up a guerrilla war upon it. Cranks are the salt of the 
earth. They are question-marks set up against estab- 
lished institutions. They put the accepted under ex- 
amination, and stir up the stagnant waters of received 
opinion. The people who let one idea, big or little, get 
into their heads and run away with them, are not sensible 
people; but the world is not suffering from a lack 
of sensible people — it has too many of them. It is the 
fellow whose sense of proportion is out of order that is 
most wanted. The sensible man sees multitudes of evils 
around him, all tightly rooted in the soil of custom, and, 
as each impresses him as being as bad as the other, and 
all needing uprooting alike, he sighs in despair and gives 
up the idea of attempting to tear up any. Sensible men 
don't turn reformers. But the crank has a narrower 
vision than his level-headed fellow-citizen. Some one of 
the myriad evils tolerated by society catches his eye and 
excites his generous indignation. The longer he looks at 
it the bigger it gets, until at last he can see none of the 
other evils. His anger at it grows in the same distorted 
proportion, and he falls at the evil tooth and nail, and 
screams until often the world, indifferent to the whole 
plantation of familiar evils, has its curiosity excited and 
pauses to have a look at the particular evil about which 
the crank is making such a noise. It sees that the noise 
is not raised over nothing, but that the crank is angry 
about a thing that ought not to be in the way, and very 
often it lends him a helping hand. When it does, up 
comes the evil, and the crank's existence is justified. He 
has not lived and howled in vain. 

All reformers are cranks — at first. When they are men 
of suj)erior mind, and their one idea is a big one which 
they succeed in getting the word to accept, we call them 
benefactors a century or so after their death, and raise 
statues to them. Had we lived when they did we should 
have laughed at them, and perhaps have helped to starve 
them or stone them to death. The great cranks, how- 
ever, are not very plentiful. They are fewer than the 
centuries. When one is given to the world he turns the 
electric light of his intellect upon the evil which has 
roused him into being, and continues to blaze U]>on it 
from the battery of his writings long after he is gone, and 
earnest men are attracted toward it like moths to a flame. 
When their numbers grow great enough the evil is up- 
rooted, however big it may be. 

But we should not despise the day of small things in 
the matter of cranks, any more than in other directions. 
It is good to abolish little evils as well as big ones. Even 
the woman in breeches who strode along Kearny street 
making a guy of herself, makes the world better for being 
in it. Nobody will deny that a great deal of good money 
and good health are wasted on dress by women — not as 
much as in the days of those sainted dames, our grand- 
mothers, but still far too much. The woman in trowsers, 
while she excited our laughter by her comical but un- 



doubtedly comfortable and healthful costume, drew 
attention of hundreds during her stroll to this importai., 
fact. Of course no lady on seeing the superior healthful- 
ness of such a dress, went home straightway resolved to 
discard skirts henceforward forever and become herself a 
spectacle. But quite possibly many a sensible woman, 
unthinkingly following the fashion, bethought her that 
her stays were too tight and that the weight of drygoods 
dejjending from her hips was too great, and, so reminded, 
loosened one and reduced the other. 

Tolerate the cranks. Let us remember that male and 
female created He them, and that He knew what He was 
about when He did it. 



IS IT A SHAM BATTLE? 



The outcome of the legal maneuvering over the rail- 
road company's taxes will, we. predict, be the payment of 
the state's claim to the last cent. The railroad com- 
pany was never known to loosen its hold on a dollar if it 
could help it. Why, then, this recent desire to pay taxes 
which it has been refusing for years to pay? We suspect 
that the railroad people have received information upon 
which they can rely that the Federal Supreme Court will 
decide the test cases before it in favor of the state. 
News of the court's views has leaked out before now in 
advance of the formal rendering of its decisions. Per- 
haps Justice Field might be able to tell how this has hap- 
pened. 

It is easy enough to form a theory which will explain 
the present tactics of the company, so puzzling on the 
surface. Here is one that will do it : 

Knowing that the taxes must be paid ultimately, the 
Central Pacific people have resolved to make a virtue of 
a disagreeable necessity and pay them before the Su- 
preme Court shall be heard from. They ask the public 
to believe that it is a patriotic anxiety to relieve the state 
from an embarrassing financial strait that moves them to 
offer to pay the principal of the claim against them. The 
battle over the penalties, interest and attorneys' fees is 
only a sham battle, and the object of it is political. The 
men who direct the course of the Democratic administra- 
tion are subject to the orders of the railroad company. 
They have been able to prevent the carrying out of the 
promises of the anti-monopoly platform over which the 
party walked into power. Nevertheless they are good 
enough politicians to see that in accomplishing this ser- 
vice for the railroad company they have played the mis- 
chief with the party's chances of future success. There- 
fore they propose to manage the payment of the taxes in a 
manner that will help to restore the Democratic adminis- 
tration to popular confidence. Agreeably to this plan, Gov- 
ernor Stoneman has already been given two opportunities 
to pose as a Governor who is nobly resolved to uphold the 
sovereignty and dignity of the state against a great and 
defiant corporation. The Attorney General has been in- 
duced to sacrifice himself by writing a letter declaring 
that he has power to compromise w ith the company for 
about half the amount of the state's claim. Lawyers 
laugh at the Attorney General's pretense that he has such 
power, but the Attorney General is the chief law officer 
of the state, and the people can be depended upon to be- 
lieve, on general principles, that he must have some legal 
ground to stand on. But, at the critical moment, the 
Governor comes forward and insists that the state shall 
have all or nothing. The Attorney General, despite the 
Governor's protest, goes into court to make the 
humiliating compromise. Again the Governor — the 
bulwark of the people's rights and the state's 
dignity — intcr|x>ses by suing out an injunction. So 
the mock fight goes on ; and if it ends in the rout of the 
Attorney General and the payment of the whole sum de- 
manded, we shall see the politicians who have acted as 
stage managers proceeding to gather the fruits of their 
shrewdness. They will take the stump when the time 
for stumping comes and triumphantly ask us where we 
are to look for an anti-monopoly party if not to theirs; 
where we are to find an anti-monopoly Governor if not 
in Stoneman? To be sure (they will tell us) he refused to 
call an extra session of the Legislature to meet the crisis 
occasioned by the treason of the majority of the Railroad 
Commission, but then he had deep reasons in law and 
public policy for acting as he did. The people misjudged 
him for a time ; but w hen the Attorney General — an able 
man and a profound lawyer — sought, under a mistaken 
view of the reach of his official power, to compromise 
away more than a million dollars belonging to the people, 
was there any sign of weakness in the Governor then? 
Did he not (the stumj)crs will demand) promptly walk to 
the front and put his foot down on the projx)sition, giving 
the Central Pacific to understand that he would convoke 
the Legislature if the state's just demand were not com- 
plied with? At every step of the attempted compromise 
(it w ill be jxjinted out) the soulless and crafty corporation 
ran up against the stone-wall of the Governor's magnifi- 
cent firmness. Alone and unaided — battling even against 
the Attorney General, a member of his own administra- 
tion — he brought the insolent corporation to its knees. 

All this would sound plausible enough, and it is no sure 
thing that the stumping politicians would not make their 
audiences believe every word of it. Perhaps our theory 
is not the true one, but certainly the phenomena fit it 
wonderfully well. 



lO 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



A VISIT TO SAX GABRIEL MISSION. 



BY M. V. LEECH AND ELLA J. MITCHELL. 



From the St. Charles Hotel, in Los Angeles— which in 
the early days of California was the headquarters of Gen- 
eral Fremont, the old building having been incorporated 
into the new — we, a party of tourists, started one bright 
and beautiful October morning, to visit the San Gabriel 
Mission. 

Exhilarated by the bracing atmosphere and the happy 
surroundings, each new scene brought forth a renewed 
outburst of pleasure and surprise, with a fresh sparkle to 
every eye. The air was laden with fresh perfumes from 
the luxuriant growth of flowers that seemed unable to 
stop in their endless wanderings. The thick hedges of 
scarlet and pink geraniums, with their large and brilliant 
flowering, grew in extent and proportion as we drove on 
into the country, where large fields far as the eye could 
reach were inclosed by this wonderful growth. 

Although the Mission was only six miles from Los An- 
geles, our young Spanish driver took us by a long, circuit- 
ous route, in order to show us other places of interest. When 
we first started out he seemed unusually reticent for a 
man engaged in his occupation — who is expected to be 
wound up by the first interrogation-point who honors 
him by a question, and to keep on going until he tells 
all he knows. Hut there he sat, with his rich olive skin and 
soft black eyes. Hinging his unembellished " yes " and 
" no " at our eager questions, until he finally discovered 
that we were not only pleasure-seekers but earnest in- 
quirers after truth ; then he immediately opened up his 
store of knowledge for our edification. As he afterward 
modestly informed us, he had remained quiet long 
enough to know that we would not bore him with the silly 
and ridiculous questions that so many tourists plied him 
with. He laughingly confessed to many an improbable 
and mythical story he had given them in return. As we 
noticed the prickly-pear growing like hedges along the 
roadside, he told us an amusing story of a couple he had 
taken over the road a few days before. 

The large oval lobes of this plant grow from six to 
eight feet in height, and from three to four feet in width, 
while those of smaller growth stood out in all directions 
from the main lobe. Farmers sometimes use them in 
the place of fences, no cattle being so insane as to at- 
tempt a passage through a hedge of prickly-pear. Upon 
this plant grow two varieties of fruit— the red, and white 
or lemon color, which is the bejs for eating. Great care 
is necessary in gathering the fruit, on account of the 
sharp hair-like thistles which grow upon its surface in 
small bunches, similar to the bunches on the body of 
the plant. The driver gathered some of this ripe fruit 
for us — the first we had ever seen — which proved to be 
very sweet and delicious. 

And right here is a good place to tell his feeling little 
story, which he recited with a very vivacious snap of the 
eye, which revealed that he rather enjoyed the distress of 
his persistent passengers, who insisted, in opposition to 
his earnest entreaties, upon removing the outer coating 
with their hands, confidently saying they knew that the 
bristling hairs could not penetrate their kid gloves. But, 
alas, they had no sooner stripped the fruit of its thick 
rind— something similar to that of the banana or orange— 
and the rich pulp was in tempting view, than with tragic 
effect they threw it from them and tore off theirgloves, to 
find that the torturing hair had unconsciously to them 
penetrated their flesh, causing their hands to pain and 
swell so rapidly that they were obliged to stop at the 
nearest house for relief. Perhaps if these unfortunate 
tourists should ever see themselves held up to ridicule, 
they will also be able to laugh at their own folly. 

The usual way to remove the rind is to roll the fruit in 
the dust, at the same time brushing it with a wisp of 
weeds. As the fruit will keep a long time, the natives 
in the early days were in the habit of gathering it in large 
supplies for eating, as well as for the purpose of making a 
sweet wine. Indian women gathered the red variety, 
from which they extracted a pigment, which they used 
for painting their faces, lips and nails. 

We passed by vineyards covering hundreds of acres of 
ground, the vines all trimmed low and bearing many va- 
rieties of grapes. At every turn we came upon the 
orange, lemon, lime, and orange groves laden with the 
coming fruit but partially grown. The olive trees, with 
their long narrow leaves and faded color, form a striking 
contrast to the dark wavy leaves of the orange and lemon 
trees. Fadies who are partial to the rich olive greens 
may feel like resenting a betrayal of the genuine shade. 

Still further on we visited the extensive ranch of E. J. 
Rose, so widely known as an exporter of wine, oranges, 
lemons, limes and olives. Judging from the size of the 
vats in which the wine was fermenting, he must yearly 
bottle enough wine to make the entire nation hilarious. 

From here we drove to Sierra Madra Villa, a summer 
resort, where everything in the way of trees, fruits and 
flowers abounds to make it beautiful and attractive to vis- 
itors. Another unusual attraction of this place was a 
large apiary, where a superior quality of honey is made 
from the white sage which covers the mountain sides. As 
we passed to the rear of the house and caught our first 
sight of the apiary, it looked, with its regular rows of 



small white bee-hives, like so many little monuments to 
mark the graves of as many little papooses. 

And through this Sierra Madre range, said our now 
communicative Spaniard, ranged the notorious highway- 
man and robber Yasquez, who for many years was a ter- 
ror to all but the natives, who regarded him more as a 
hero than a vandal. Because of his bountiful provision 
for the poor — by robbing those who were more prosjjer- 
ous — they many times shielded him, and diverted the 
officers of Justice from his course when they were in 
close pursuit. But his handsome face, daring nature and 
deeds of kindness could not save him from the just retri- 
bution of the law for the crimes he had committed. 
After a very exciting trial, he was hanged a few years ago 
in the beautiful city of San Jose. 

With almost a feeling of awe, we entered the little vil- 
lage of San Gabriel, whose quiet streets and old adobe 
houses gave it a quaint and ancient look, very unlike 
other American towns. 

Witt) a feeling of devout veneration, and our imagina- 
tions all aglow, we neared the Mission church, founded, 
through so much toil and privation, by the good Father 
Junipero Serra in the year 1771, being the fourth in the 
order of the Missions. We there recalled the incident 
which has been so vividly portrayed of the small band 
of soldiers — ten in number — protecting the two lone 
friars who upon this site were in the act of planting the 
cross, when they were surprised by a large force of In- 
dians, who were diverted from unholy massacre by the 
unfurling of a banner upon which was painted a life-size 
figure of the Virgin. As if the heavens had been opened 
up, and a sudden revelation revealed to them the truth 
and the life, they flung their bows and their arrows from 
them, came running toward the banner, casting their 
beads and ornaments before it, as their most sacred offer- 
ing to a newly recognized deity. 

As we drove up to the door of the church a large 
wagon was being tilled with pictures of the twelve apos- 
tles which had just been taken from the walls, dim and 
discolored by age, to be sent away to receive some modern 
touches — which, to our minds at least, seemed sacrile- 
gious. 

The building is one hundred and twenty-live feet long 
and fifty wide, and was built of adobe brick and stone by 
the Indians, under the supervision of the Mission Fathers. 
The windows are small, and high up in the walls of the 
church — placed thus by the thoughtful Fathers, so 
that in case of insurrection or insubordination among 
the Indians it would prove a safe citadel. The walls are- 
thick and massive, as is the heavy door, which is studded 
with round bronze-headed nails. The flight of stone steps 
on the inside, leading to the gallery of the church, is 
worn almost through, testifying to the constant tread of 
faithful worshipers. From a chink in the wall, where 
long ago a seed must have lodged, a small tree has come 
forth, looking like a waif in its strange abode. 

From the belfry chimed forth the musical bells — the 
silvery bells the golden bells — brought from Spain, 
where the ladies, anxious to aid the Mission Fathers in 
their noble work, gave their rings and jewels to be cast 
into these bells, perhaps believing that they would intone 
for them a sweeter entrance into heaven. 

The Fathers also brought over with them a small brass 
cannon, with which they fired a proud salute when the 
foundations of the walls were laid. The cannon is now 
owned by a gentleman living in San Gabriel. He also 
has in his possession a book owned by the Fathers, which 
treats of many subjects, and was referred to then, as it is 
now, to cast a faithful horoscope of future events. 

Not far from the church lived a Spanish woman one 
hundred and fifteen years old, whose valuable informa- 
tion and retentive memory brought her many interested 
visitors, among them men seeking for the unwritten his- 
tory of early days. But we had not been long away 
when we heard that the sweet bells had chimed for her 
death, and that under the shadow of Father Junipero's 
church she had been laid to rest. 

At the time of our visit they were plowing up the old 
churchyard for the purpose of planting an orange grove; 
and so often did they turn up the bones of the long- 
departed that the children went roaming about with their 
fingers adorned with small pieces of sanctified vertebra;. 
They were proud of their new ornaments, each one shout- 
ing " I've got the best." 

Upon the inside, the gallery extends the entire width of 
the church. The railing is badly broken and decayed, 
and the floor so worn and crumbled that it is considered 
unsafe to tread upon. A broad flagstone extends from 
the altar to the end of the building, with earth on either 
hand, while on the right-hand side of the church, as you 
face the altar, still stands the quaint, isolated pulpit. 

By ascending six or eight rickety old steps, one can 
enter this octagon box, barely large enough to admit one 
voluminously dressed woman. 

Mounting these decayed but consecrated steps, one felt 
that an atmosphere of sanctity pervaded the spot, hal- 
lowed by the exhortations and prayers of the holy Fathers. 
We pictured the sea of upturned faces, as the Indians 
squatted upon the hard floor and gazed into the loving 
eyes of him who told them of his home and friends 
across the sea, and how he had traveled far to make them 
a good and happy people. The San Gabriel Indians were 
superior to some of the other tribes, with a soft, musical 



language of their own, and soon yielded to these human- 
izing influences, and became heroic workers and ardent 
followers of those who set the example of labor and self- 
sacrifice. 

Looking down from the pulpit, our thoughts swiftly 
flew backward to that humble home on the Mediterra- 
nean where the infant Junipero was nurtured and edu- 
cated for the church, his parents little dreaming of the 
great field of usefulness which lay before him in the New 
World. Here he traveled over mountains and through 
beautiful valleys, to find a spot lovely enough upon which 
to establish a Mission; and when such a spot -was found, 
he would hang the bells upon the trees, and with an ex- 
alted strength pull the rope, while he shouted, " Hear, 
hear, O ye gentiles, and come to the Holy Church I" 

With their versatile talents and industrious habits, these 
thrifty pioneers soon gained the confidence of the In- 
dians, and taught them habits of industry and usefulness. 
Through the Fathers they acquired different trades and a 
new awakening, of which the more skeptical world would 
never consider the red man capable. But now how 
changed ! 

Although the San Gabriel has been better preserved 
than almost any other of the Mission buildings, it has 
sadly deteriorated from the glory of other days. The old 
Spanish bible which was first used at this Mission is still 
there. Old and worn and moth-eaten — its usefulness 
long passed — it, too, in its honored rest, has been set 
aside, with other relics of the church. 

No sermon could be more impressive, no words appeal 
to one more strongly, than does the sight of this sacred 
ruin — in itself a revelation of a godlike sacrifice. In 
later years a few seats have been placed on one side of 
the church for the white families who worship there, the 
Indians still retaining their lowly postures. 

In an embrasure in the bare and dingy walls was a dish 
of holy-water, into which— although our faith would not 
entitle us to the sacrament — an impulse led us to rev- 
erently dip our fingers and touch our foreheads. We 
remarked to our female guide, " At least, it cannot hurt 
us." To which she responded, "No; and it may do 
you a great deal of good." 

The pictures of the apostles having been taken from 
the walls, the altar revealed the only gleam of brightness 
in the church. Here are figures of saints cut in wood, 
the carving so delicately and beautifully done that the 
features look as though they were chiseled from the finest 
marble. The robes flow in graceful lines, but the colors, 
although still showing, have lost almost entirely their 
former brightness. The greater number of these images 
were brought from Spam, while some have been carved 
by the Indians. 

To the image of St. Francis Xavier our guide |>ointed 
with S|iecial pride, as she lifted her eyes and clasped her 
hands in mute adoration — afterwards relating many inci- 
dents in the missionary life, he having been one of the 
founders, in the sixteenth century, of the |esuit society. 
Great miracles were rejxjrted of Xavier by many wit- 
nesses throughout his entire career, which being estab- 
lished by the ordinary canonical process, he was beatified 
by Paul V., in 1619, anil canonized by Gregory XV., in 
1622. Starting out on his last mission to China strong in 
the belief of a great spiritual harvest, the diffic ulties he 
encountered, together with the many privations and 
labors, brought on a violent fever, under which he sank, 
upon the very threshold of what he considered the greatest 
enterprise ol his life. 

Back of the altar is a small apartment, in which many 
curious old relics are kept. Among them, hanging upon 
the walls, were two large paintings, one representing the 
ascension of Christ; but it did not impress us as other 
figures of Him had done — missing in it, as we did, the 
benign and spiritual expression so characteristic of His 
face. The other represents the torments of hell, and 
shows the various punishments which the wicked pas- 
sions, if indulged in, must entail. We particularly recall 
the scandal-monger, as he stood with his hands tied be- 
hind him, his long tongue protruding from his mouth, 
and for its unruly conduct being pinched and burned 
by little imps, who seemed as happy as though they were 
dancing at a Christmas festival. Other crimes were re- 
ceiving their various punishments from imps apparently 
ap[K>inted for that purpose, who meted it out with a 
fiendish delight, reminding one of the tortures of Dante's 
Inferno. This last picture is claimed to be a painting by 
Michael Angelo. Its age, at least, warrants it in claim- 
ing the parentage of one of the old masters. 

There was also hanging there an old concave mirror 
surrounded by a mouldy wooden frame. We were in- 
formed that the mirror was used by the friars to watch 
the Indians at their work, without their knowledge — the 
peculiar construction of the mirror being such as to con- 
centrate in a diminished size a wide and extended pros- 
pect. With their knowledge of the science of optics, did 
these careful and watchful missionaries hold the Indians 
in awe of their wonderful insight into the many things 
which the Indians supposed known only to themselves? 

1 .ooking back and around us, we thoughtfully saun- 
tered out of the church and walked to our carriage, where 
our eyes wandered for the last time oyer the venerable 
landmark and upward to the newly shingled roof which 
had replaced the tile covering of one hundred years. 
There hung in their separate embrasures the four remain- 
ing bells, two having been sent away to supply other 
Missions. 

" Many a time," said the driver, as we drove away, 
" have I as a little chap been roused from my slumbers 
at early dawn to walk with my mother from Los Angeles 
to early mass, when the frosty morning air made it seem 
more of a punishment than a pleasure, until I heard the 
sweet music of the Mission bells." 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



ROSES AND RUE. 



BY KATHIE HILLYF.R. 



" Roses red and roses white — 
Who will buy? 
Roses fair and roses rare!" — 
Hear the cry. 

" Monsieur, see! this for you, 
For your bride — 
Just as pure she, I'm sure, 
At your side. 

" Thanks to you ! This my prayer 
For you two: 
Love and wealth, joy and health 
Keep with you." 

Madame smiles, lifts a rose 
Red as wine : 
" This for you, brave and true — ' 
This be thine." 

" Wait, Madame! / will give 
Him a flower: 
Here is rue — this for you! 
See him cower ! 

" Oh, Madame, turn again ! 
He was mine; 
Man forgets, woman regrets — 
He is thine ! " 



THK NEW ZEALANDERS. 

Theiv Mythology, Customs, and State of 
Civilization. 



BY JOHN MANNING. 



The aborigines of New Zealand are of the Malay race, 
and are classed with the Ouhahee or Sandwich Island 
family. They are of an olive color, strong, active and 
well-shaped, with straight and waving hair. The men are 
brave and warlike, and the women when young have 
lithe, elastic figures, a sweet and pleasant voice, and 
large, lustrous dark eyes. The native name of the race is 
Maori (pronounced moitri). 

The offspring of intermarriages with the whites are a 
splendid type of physical humanity, conspicuous for bold 
and lofty bearing, exterior beauty, vivacity.and native in- 
telligence. Of all the native races of the southern hem- 
isphere who have been brought into contact with civili- 
zation, the Maories have profited most by the intercourse, 
and have, withal, the best preserved their national inde- 
pendence and native autonomy, a circumstance which 
more than all other evidence testifies to their natural in- 
telligence and force of character. 

In order to bring that character into stronger light, 
and exhibit the basis on which is constructed their pres- 
ent civilization, I will confine myself, almost exclusively, 
to their primitive characteristics as these existed before 
the race was subjected to the light of civilization, less 
than fifty years ago. 

The staple qualities in the moral constitution of the 
Maories are frankness, generosity and an insatiable spirit 
of revenge. Provided you did not lie to them or deceive 
them, their hospitality and fidelity were alike reliable 
and at your service; but once lie to them, and they 
would never more believe you; once deceive them, and 
they would never either forget or forgive. And this it is 
which lies at the bottom of their fierce wars with the 
colonial government for the last forty-nine years. 

They were cannibals, and the shocking practice could 
not be extenuated on the plea of any lack of food mate- 
rial ; for, before the white man ever saw their country or 
supplied them with the hog and the potato as staples of 
subsistence, their numerous rivers and bays. were abund- 
antly stocked with fish of large size and delicate flavor; 
the white-bait could be taken up in bucketfuls from all 
their large streams, and the bulbous fern-root supplied in 
some sort the place of the potato. But in obedience to 
their untamed spirit of revenge, the ferocious custom was 
resorted to for the purpose of wreaking greater ven- 
geance on their enemies. 

Their mythology was rude and lacked the refinement 
of system, so conspicuous in that of Greece and Rome, 
but had, withal, some affinity to those systems, and ex- 
hibited, although very rudely, the immortal principle of 
reverence and awe, of propitiation and homage to that 
indefinable Something which, by universal belief, con- 
trols human actions, perpetuates life beyond the grave, 
and metes out reward and punishment here and here- 
after. 

Thus the chief god Atua was defined as an " immortal 
shadow," omnipotent and omnipresent, whose attributes, 
however, were singularly conflicting; for he sometimes 
appeared as the guardian divinity of the household, in 
the form of a lizard— running up the backs of the chil- 
dren, who were rather pleased than frightened by this 
playful familiarity; sometimes he enthroned himself sol- 
emnly in some corner of the cabin as a venerable spider, 
venerated and never disturbed. But, again, he exhibited 
some very malignant qualities, for it was he who caused 
sickness, who entangled the nets and upset the canoes, 
and who, w ith pre-eminent malice, inflicted the curse of 
the white man's presence on New Zealand. Previous to 
this visitation no person died while yet young, but all 



lived until a great old age had absorbed the oil which fed 
the lamp of life. Atua and the white man's god differed 
materially in certain important particulars, for while Atua 
made his people brown, the other made all his people 
white. 

Atua was the supreme god, but there were three in- 
ferior divinities, and they were of a benign character: 
these were the sun, moon and stars. The sun was adored 
with joyous song, the moon with pensive solemnity, and 
the stars with pleasant reverence. In their ill-regulated 
and confused mythology they attributed the creation of 
the world to three other principal deities — an article of 
faith which might, perhaps, be traced to some dim, re- 
mote remembrance of the doctrine of the Trinity, which 
may have been taught to theL' ancestors very many ages 
ago and transmitted to successive generations, each gen- 
eration diluting it with more or less fiction, until tradi- 
tion finally so erred from its course as to be altogether 
absorbed in romance. But stranger even than the doc- 
trine of the Trinity was the belief that woman was formed 
from the ribs of man— heree or vwi (bone) being the gen- 
eral name for woman. By what tortuous course did the 
biblical genesis of woman reach the Maories, who have 
inhabited New Zealand for at least five hundred years? 

The chiefs were deified, even while living ; but so also 
were some of the great men of polished Greece and 
Rome. The left eye of a great chief was venerated as a 
star, and therefore as one of the three minor divinities. 
Consequently, no greater outrage could be put upon a 
tribe than to pluck out the left eye of their chief slain in 
battle — a sacrilege which was, however, mercilessly prac- 
ticed. 

The place inhabited by the gods was beautiful beyond 
description. When the checkered clouds of evening 
canopied the earth and variegated the sky, then were the 
gods planting sweet potatoes; and hence, when the 
Maories were engaged in seeding their potato fields, they 
arrayed themselves in their finest mats and their choicest 
ornaments of shells and feathers, in imitation of the 
beautiful raiment of clouds in which the gods were ar- 
rayed while performing the same operation in heaven. 
The object was to propitiate them for a bountiful crop. 
If this was absurd, there was reverence as well as poetry 
in the practice ; and it was, at any rate, superior to the 
mode of propitiation practiced by the Russian Tartar, 
who, too lazy to pray, puts written petitions in a revolving 
machine, which is turned by the wind, and by this easy 
means his prayers are wafted to heaven. 

The Maories believed that departed spirits hovered 
over their remains for three days after leaving the body — 
a belief also held by the Chinese ; and thousands of 
Christians there are who hold to it as well. Human na- 
ture, it seems, is the same everywhere, whether in Chris- 
tendom, New Zealand or pagan Rome. 

In the heaven of the Maories, as in that of the (ioths, 
the chief employment was war — their old delight on 
earth. Slaves were sacrificed to appease the departed 
spirit of a chief, just as to-day in Burmah human heca- 
tombs are offered to appease the manes of a departed 
sovereign. We should be charitable to the Maori, who 
was hidden and sheltered in his impenetrable forests 
from the light as well as the infamies of civilization. 

The Maori priest was a personage of great importance 
and much influence, just as were the priests of ancient 
Greece and.Rome. The Maori priest sat by the side of 
his dying chief, regulated his food and consoled him with 
promises of happiness, in heaven, where, fighting by the 
side of his warrior fathers, he would put to ignominious 
flight the ancient enemies of his tribe. 

" And the warriors, do they fight with spears? " 

"Oh, yes," replies the priest; "but with spears fifty 
cubits long and bright as sunbeams." 

"Ah, but the spears arc too long, though I like their 
brightness," sighs the dying but delighted warrior. 

" Too long, indeed, for the weak warriors of earth ; but 
in heaven they are nine times as tall as the tallest of our 
warriors, and have the strength of a hundred men." 

And thus were beguiled the dying hours of the warrior 
chief, and thus was his passage from earth to heaven made 
smooth and easy. 

When an enemy, killed in battle, was to be eaten, the 
priest, who superintended the cooking, received the first 
and choicest morsel, as an offering to the gods. In what- 
ever extremity, the priest invoked the gods, and could 
kill or in some way ruin an enemy by incantations and 
spells. When a child was born, it was taken to the 
tohunga, or priest, to be sprinkled with water, and to 
neglect the ceremony was baneful to the infant. The 
Maori believed that dreams were messages from the gods. 
To dream of a burning forest was a sure sign of coining 
prosperity and a plentiful season for fish. Is not a belief 
in dreams a common weakness with all races? The 
elegant historian I -ivy assures us that " sown: stint a Jove" — 
dreams come from Jove. In the second book of tin- 
Iliad, Jupiter sends an evil dream to Agamemnon to lure 
him to give battle to the Trojans in the absence of 
Achilles. 

In battle the Maories disdained the use of the bow and 
arrow. They fought hand to hand, with spears and clubs 
of great weight and size. Before engaging, the contend- 
ing forces on each side stripped naked and sang the war- 
song, to rouse the sleeping valor of the warriors, just as 
for .a similar purpose the French and British bands struck 



up martial airs on the plains of Waterloo. When the 
war-song was over, the chiefs on either side, at the head 
of their respective warriors, rushed to the encounter. It 
was man to man, a series of single battles all over the 
field, and no quarter was asked or given. The women 
followed close behind, and sometimes fought like the 
men ; but their proper part was to cut off the heads of 
the hostile slain and carry them to the rear, to be in time 
boiled and cleaned and polished and kept as trophies. 
In this there was some poetic justice, for the head that 
conceived and concocted a plot for killing others was 
made to expiate its wicked ingenuity. 

And have they not decapitation in France ? And 
does not Walpole inform us that in England, after the 
rebellion of 1745, in which the Pretender essayed to re- 
cover the throne of his ancestors, the heads of traitors 
were stuck on a pike and exposed in the market-place ? 
We should, I say, be charitable to the Maori. 

The Maories excelled in wood-carving, which in grace 
and richness of design would not discredit civilized ef- 
fort ; and in naval architecture they were far superior to 
the Romans at the time of their first naval encounter 
with the Carthagenians. The Maori war-canoe was 
eighty feet long, exquisitely carved on the stem and stern, 
and could accommodate two hundred fighting men. The 
Maories built their villages on some river near the sea, 
thus constituting themselves a maritime people. In the 
center of the village was a large vacant space, where they 
met in parliament or council to deliberate on affairs of 
state, such as the number and structure of war-canoes, 
the fashioning of spears and war-clubs, and other weighty 
subjects of national importance. 

No savage race of the earth has advanced so rapidly 
in civilization as the Maories, and this not by the gr.u e 
of the white man, but in spite of him. Less than 
forty years ago they were savages; to-day they are civil- 
ized and Christianized. They have a native literature, 
and publish at least one newspaper in the Maori tongue. 
They live in houses of brick, stone or wood; they are 
strictly temperate; the population is increasing steadily; 
they cultivate the land and grow crops; they own gold- 
mines and grist-mills, and some of their chiefs represent 
their people in the colonial Parliament. At the Govern- 
or's annual ball, some of the most dashing belles presented 
to His Excellency are the daughters of Maori chiefs. 
They hold, especially in the North Island, much of the 
territory owned by their ancestors, and this by virtue of 
treaties extorted on the battle-field. 

Missionaries, it is true, were among them as early as 
1814; but nothing save the rough amenities of war with 
a civilized people could tame so warlike a race. They 
hearkened to the missionaries, as children listen to the 
tales of the nursery; but when the war-cry was raised, 
the spirit of native ferocity blazed with all its elemental 
rage and fury, and tribe fought tribe to the death. In 
1835 the country was colonized, and then it was that they 
encountered the white man in his sterner character. 
They fought him and beat him, and were severely beaten 
in turn ; but to their surprise they saw that he did not, 
like themselves, mutilate the dead. This they could not 
at first understand; but by degrees they saw the aimless- 
ness of mutilation, and this was their first lesson in civil- 
ization. Thus, by degrees and in the course of this 
rough training, did they come to find out the white man's 
better qualities, and to copy these qualities as time went 
on. 



GRINDING AT THK MILL. 



BY HIRAM imvi RICHMOND* 



The room was long ago forgot, 

And yet the picture haunts me still — 
The when and where, ii matters not — 

Blind Samson grinding at the mill. 
His eyes, now opened to the night, 

Spdke the strong language of despair; 
His face — weak specter of his might — 

Was furrowed with the lines of care. 

Vet blind men see a thousand things 

That we, in seeing, cannot see; 
The sightless Milton felt His wings, 

Who (ills what we call vacancy. 
Mcthinks how many giants grind 

On other mills another's corn, 
Because they are, like Samson blind, 

Fit subjects for I'hillistine scorn. 

The back that bends to human load 

And wears the yoke without protest, 
Has found its level on the road, 

And is an animal's, at best. 
Blind Samson prayed lor strength renewed, 

And God gave answer to his cry; 
The broken columns round him strewed 

Show how despair itself can die. 



" I don't see why you married Mr. Jones -he's so 
much older than you,' said a female friend to the blush- 
ing bride. "That's just the reason," was the reply. 
" The contrast will make me look young enough to wear 
bangs for several years yet." — Utica Press. 



To get rid of the smell of fresh paint in a chamber or 
living-room, slice a few onions and put them in the mid- 
dle of the room. After that it will be desirable to get 
rid of the smell of the onions. This can casily^beMone 
by putting on another coat of paint, 



I 2 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



MY FRIEND THE UNDERTAKER. 



Somehow there is a lurking prejudice against under- 
takers. They are looked upon as inhumanely light- 
hearted. This is all wrong. They are not light-hearted ; 
they lack a good deal of being light-hearted. The min- 
istry, medicine, and jails are full of lighter-hearted men. 
True, undertakers are eccentric ; but that is all it amounts 
to — mere eccentricity. This fact I learned in the course 
of a pretty little romantic e.\[)ericnce down at Nelson's 
house — an ex]x;rience that I do not care to dig up for 
amusement's sake, and only give where it jibes in with 
the character sketch of my friend Nelson, the under- 
taker. 

It was about a year ago that I got acquainted with old 
man Nelson. I stopped at his house. I had a back 
comer room upon the second floor; a room that looked 
out on an assortment of chicken-coops and old rags — 
chicken-coops that had somewhat of a resemblance to 
coffins, and I used to wonder if the resemblance was in- 
tentional. For the old man was eccentric ; I knew that. 
Any one would know it at six o'clock of the first morning 
after taking up quarters in the Nelson residence. At 
that hour [" Doc" Nelson ["Doc" was a slap-you-on- 
the-back title that the citizens of the town had conferred 
on my undertaker in his younger days] "Doc" Nelson 
would stump up stairs with his crooked stick and bang at 
the doors. It was of no use to put him off. The young 
man who lodged in the room next to mine tried that on 
once, but the result was melancholy and unsatisfactory. 
I never knew much about this young man, except that he 
had a disagreeable habit of stumbling up stairs as if 
drunk, and disturbing my sleep. I therefore found it ad- 
visable to remonstrate against this, and I remonstrated 
effectively. It happened out in the corridor. The fight 
was short and sharp. Perhaps it was wrongly impulsive, 
but then it had the merit of being direct and decisive. 

One morning I heard the old Doctor thumping at my 
victim's door. 

" Get up, sir, get up!" growled the old man, in a raspy 
voice. 

No response from the lodger. More banging, accom- 
panied with impatient thumps of the cane. 

" Get up, young man!" 

Still no response. Vigorous banging. 

"Bless me," muttered the Doctor, "this is strange! 
Six o'clock, too! I say, get t-u-p!" 

Profound silence. Shuffling of feet in the hallway, fol- 
lowed by mumbling. Another short period of silence, 
and then I could hear the old man chuckling — chuckling 
to himself— over something or other. He made one final 
stagger, but the banging wasn't of any use. Then there 
was renewed chuckling, and at last the stumping of the 
old man's boots died away down the stairs. I turned 
over. I was just dropping off to sleep again, when three 
or four voices in a half-whisper awakened me with a start. 

"Bless me if the fellow ain't dead!" This from old 
Nelson. 

"Sh — h — h — h!" warned some one. I recognized the 
voice as the property of Mrs. Nelson, because I had 
heard her make the same remark to the chickens on more 
than one important occasion— important, probably, as 
she flaunted her apron and gave other signs of great men- 
tal agitation. 

"Ah, it's a solemn thing," returned the old fellow. 

" A solemn, a very solemn thing is death. Such a " 

" Sh-h— h-h ! " 

" Such a young man, too! Bless me, but I could weep 
like a mother. I wonder if his money is in his trunk? 
Solemn, solemn, solemn!" 

" Sh — h — h! The others '11 hear, Nelson." 

"Oh — oh— sol — oh, a terrible! such a terrible— oh— " 
I could have sworn the old fellow was blubbering. 

"Jimmy," he continued, enthusiastically, evidently to 
the urchin of the house, "Jimmy, just climb over that 
transept and unlock the door. Quick, now; I'll boost. 
Bless me, so young, too! And the trunk key's in the 
pocket of the poor, dead corpse, like as not." 

A corpse ! [It was on the night before that I had licked 
the fellow.] A corpse ; bruised and bloody, perhaps, and 
they would— that is, the criminal courts would— have 
some one up for murder. Could they connect me with 
the mystery in any way? I awaited impatiently for Jim- 
my to peer through the transom. 

A startled yell. 

"The dead man's" [yell]— this from Jimmy— " sitting 
up" [yell] "looking at us" [yell] "all covered with 
blood " [chain of yells]. 

Dead silence for an instant. 

" You let me be! " growled the supposed corpse, in a 
thick voice; "I don't want any breakfast this morning, 
so you needn't waste wood keeping it warm. Leave, 
now ; leave, I say ! " 

The old man stumped off without a word, followed by 
the rest of the family, while the lodger muttered savagely 
something about "the devil!" and "breakfast," and 
"miser," and "coffins." But I knew better. This six 
o'clock business wasn't to save fire ; it was merely one of 
the eccentricities of the old gentleman — a troublesome 
one, to be sure, but still only an eccentricity. 

The lodger left that day, and a newly married couple 
came' in. I 4 wasn't aware of this fact until supper-time of 



the following evening. True, the bunged-up lodger, the 
young man with whom I had had a manual disagreement, 
did not put in an appearance at breakfast of that follow- 
ing day; but this absence I looked on as a conquest 
consequent upon his triumph of the previous morning. 
Neither were the married couple present at that breakfast. 
Why, I do not pretend to say ; nor why the old Doctor 
had not routed them out at the invariable hour of six 
o'clock. I simply state it as a fact that they were not 
there. That is sufficient. Well, we had got pretty well 
along in the supper's potatoes and beefsteak — potatoes 
were highly recommended by the Nelson family, I judge, 
and beefsteak was looked upon with disfavor, I suppose ; 
for the potatoes were plentiful and the beefsteaks were of 
about the size of silver dollars. We had got pretty well 
along with the potatoes and beefsteak when Mr. Nelson, 
from the head of the board, made a remark. I did not 
catch its ini[K)rt. 

" Handsome, I said," reiterated the old man, "a very 
handsome wedding dress. Ah, death must come to us 
all — death, solemn, solemn death!" 

" Yes sir." It was about all she could say, anyhow; 
and the bridegroom looked down into his plate. 

" Ah, bless me," pursued the old man, in an abstracted 
mood, " it must have cost as much as a hundred dollars; 
and all for a wedding shroud !" 

Somehow the word grated harshly on the newly mar- 
ried man, and he said something that sounded like 
" h'm " — but it was only one of Nelson's eccentricities, I 
knew. 

"A hundred dol — Jimmy, just pass some more po- 
tatoes to Mrs. Woods. Potatoes are good for the health ; 
all the doctors say so. Ah, if poeple only knew what a 
risk they run in getting married, there would be more 
potatoes eaten— lots more. Worrying leads to sickness; 
to sickness and death. It's a solemn thing, Mr. Woods, 
a very solemn, solemn thing. Now, if / were to get married 
again, I'd buy my wife a shroud, I would; I'd just jump 
at the first chance to buy. I'll tell you it makes a woman 
feel mighty comfortable to know r that she's being cared 
for, and that everything is prepared for the last sad 
parting. Now what could be a more touching gift than a 
shroud to a bride ? Why, she'd say to herself ' How 
John loves me! And what a pretty shroud this is, with 
nice satin body and such b-e-a-u-tiful trimmings. Why, 
I do believe it's one of the old Doc Nelson's genuine 
best !' " 

They left, too. Of course it was nothing but one of the 
old man's eccentricities, but it didn't seem to fit in snugly 
with the circumstances. I'll say that much myself. 

It was on a dark, stormy night, about a month after 
the incident last narrated, that I sat with my legs under 
a small wooden table, the varnished tablet of which was 
scratched and marred with black rings, as if a lamp had 
been carelessly set down on it when the varnish was fresh ; 
and I looked about my room, and smoked, and listened 
drearily to the beating of the rain that was shot in gusts 
against the window panes. 

The adjoining room, where so many lodgers had suc- 
cumbed to the eccentric spirit of old Nelson at six o'clock 
in the morning, was now occupied by old Nelson himself. 
As forme, I had my reasons for putting up with his eccen- 
tricity. Well, I sat trying to write poetry. I was in 
love. I felt lonesome. But the poetry wouldn't come. 
Yes, I was in love ; and that is how I came to be an in- 
mate of the Nelson place. The fat girl lived next door. 

The fat girl's name was Julia , " a very pretty name," 

as the meat-carrier used to tell me voluntarily — and she 
would ogle me from her window. I am lean and lank- 
jawed, and perhaps that is the reason I fell violently in 
love with a fat girl. But I did not visit her house, and 
all our corresjxjndence was earned on through the meat- 
carrier, to whom I gave a dollar for conveying each mes- 
sage. It was costly, but it was better than facing Julia's 
father and the bull-dog, who somehow had an abiding 
prejudice against me. As I sat in my room that stormy 
night, my eyes wandered listlessly over the wood and 
steel engravings with which the walls were hung. I think 
it must have been the sleeping apartment of Mr. Nelson 
at some time or other, for the pictures — all of them but 
one — were of coffins and coffin-plates, and dismal, cold- 
looking vaults, and French caskets, and other articles 
belonging to the undertaking fraternity. The one excep- 
tional engraving represented a mother's spirit hovering 
above a dead baby. The picture was not exactly ghastly, 
but it was not cheerful. It was a great favorite with the 
old man. He used to come into my room occasionally 
and enlarge on the beauties of that picture. At such 
times he would grow enthusiastic and say, " Brazo, that 
just melts the blood in my heart ; it's so solemnly touch- 
ing. Bless me, how I'd like to be there and fix up a nice 
little coffin for that precious babe; and how it would 
tickle that poor mother! She'd go visiting among the 
other spirits, and say, ' Well, thank the Lord, there's one 
consolation, anyhow ; little Willie's body is safe and sound 
in one of Doc Nelson's caskets— Doc Nelson that lives on 
Webber street, you know ; a fine old gentleman.' Bless 
me, how I would like to bury that youngster!" 

But I have digressed. As I sat sadly in my room listen- 
ing to the howling winds now, now thinking of Julia and 
my poetry, and now wondering whether Mr. Nelson ever 
dreamt, and if so, whether he did not imagine that the 
spirits of the departed came and sat on his bedside and 



thanked him fervently for their caskets, and, with tears in 
their eyes, regret that they had not paid him double when 
they had a chance before they went to perdition — as I sat 
thinking of all these things by turns— I was startled from 
my reverie by a loud knocking at the front door down 
stairs. Immediately the house was in commotion. It 
was then past midnight, and so the knocking seemed om- 
inous. I felt, myself, that something unusual was up. 

" Who's there? " called out Mrs. Nelson. [Mrs. Nel- 
son slept below of late for some unknown reason.] 

"Fire!" answered the ungrammatical man in the 
storm. 

" Mercy! What's burning? " 
"The coffin-shop's afire!" 

"My God!" — this came from Nelson's room — "my 
God, I'm ruined! " 

I wouldn't have believed that the old man could get up 
so much agility. He rushed down the stairway in his 
night-clothes — rolled down, rather (for he stumbled at 
the first bound) and flew out into the rain toward the 

burning structure. 

******* 

A few days ago I met the Nelson lodger whom I had 
once had occasion to lick. He forgave me and we shook 
hands. 

" Heard of the fire, Brazo? " 

"Yes; 1 was there at the time," said I. "Had to 
move then, because the old man got worse than ever after 
the loss of his coffin-shop." 

" It was retribution. Heard of the death, Brazo?" 

" No." 

"Yes, sir; he's dead. The fire broke him all up. 
They say his last words to the old woman were, " Jane, 
this is a solemn, a very solemn, occasion. Ah, death is a 
terrible thing, Jane ; a terrible, terrible thing. Put my 
bones into the old coffin that wasn't burned only at the 
foot-board, Jane, and lower me into the cold, unfeeling 
ground. Good-bye, my wife; feed the boarders on pota- 
toes, and don't gr— gug— g— r— r— r— r— r— r ' Then 

he choked suddenly off and died. I say, Brazo — " 

" Well? " 

" That was rather unkind of you to lick me for getting 
drunk. I never was drunk in my life." 

" No? " 

" No, sir. I know I stumbled a good deal on the 
stairs, but that wasn't my fault. Now, do you believe 
it "—and he put his hand on my shoulder and dropped 
his voice — " I think old Nelson put those buckets on the 
stairway purposely to have me fall over the hand-rail and 
break my neck. Blamed if I don't! " 

" And what became of Julia? " I asked with some in- 
terest. 

"Julia? Oh, she married the meat-carrier and is 
happy." 

" The meat-carrier? " 

" I could have told you that you were being sucked 
in. Every dollar you gave him he spent in forwarding 
his suit — candies and coffee and such things, you know — 
and he never delivered a solitary note, except fictitious 

ones, from her." 

******* 

Well, it doesn't matter about the fat girl ; but the sad 
demise of my friend the undertaker was affecting. I 
shall always remember him. He was a pious, death- 
respecting man, wholly absorbed in the interests of his 
business. I believe this latter is held to be one of the 
manly virtues. No ; I can never forget the private life of 
my friend the undertaker ; and whenever I hear any of 
his fellow-craftsmen mourning over a corpse and trying to 
sell a coffin to the relatives, I shall always call to mind 
the kind-heartedness— although marred by some eccen- 
tricities, as I said before — of old " Doc " Nelson. 



THE SWORD OF SCIENCE. 



BY SAM DAVIS. 



The world grows old, but still there hangs the same 

Unriven vail to mock our baffled view; 
O for some mental scimitcr of flame 

To cut the curtain of the darkness through! 
Could we but find some metal which had lain 

Deep hidden in the mine of human thought, 
Dug from the mystic caverns of the brain, 

From which this flashing weapon could be wrought, 
And then some fearless arm to lift and smite, 
Until we heard the voice ot God repeat " Let there be Light ! " 



A gentleman in a street car, while reading a newspaper, 
discovered a paragraph that struck him as particularly 
funny. 

" Here is something good," he said to his neighbor, 
and he read the item to nim. 

A tired look swept over the gentleman's face, but he 
never smiled. 

Presently the reader came across another paragraph 
that tickled his fancy. 

" I will try him with this one," he said. 

He did so, and a tear actually welled out of his neigh- 
bor's eye and coursed slowly down his cheek. 

"Heavens, man! "was the exclamation, "what's the 
matter with you? Have you no sense of humor? What 
do you do to pass away the time, anyway?" 

Looking mournfully out of the window, the stranger 
replied : 

" I am a proof-reader on a comic weekly." 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THE STAGE. 



There is not to-day on the English-speaking 
stage a great intellectual actor. There are very 
few actors of any kind. But our portion of the 
nineteenth century is to be signalized in history 
by a display of mediocrity that may be described 
as dramatic nebulae. The artistic is altogether 
gone off the stage, and even the legitimate is 
given over to feeble, brainless men and women, 
who revolve around stars of greater or less tal- 
ent, whose toleration of their surroundings is a 
sign of their incapacity. I do not except Henry 
Irving. As for American actors, the best of 
them have fallen into the hands of Jews and 
speculators, and permit themselves to be made 
use of in any way, provided it is advertisement. 
I have always had a great respect for Lawrence 
Barrett. I have looked upon him as a worthy 
student of the legitimate; not so great an actor, 
but an actor of great self-respect. But when Mr. 
Barrett puts himself into the hands of an agent 
who bores me with little notes which he wants 
to see in print, and those often of a kind not 
creditable to Barrett'sdignity, I begin to weaken. 
Mr. Levy's latest escapade has been to have lit- 
tle paragraphs printed and distributed touching 
the friendship of the Prince of Wales for Mr. 
Barrett. And he has gone still farther : he has in- 
sinuated in a printed slip that the Princess of 
Wales would extend even a social intimacy to 
the American actor. This last was couched in 
language which did not show much respect for 
the first lady in England. Whatever the repu- 
tation of the Prince may be, no woman who 
ever lived has been held in higher regard by 
the world than the Princess of Wales. Mr. Bar- 
rett has fulminated his opinion of what he calls 
the lie. But the fact remains that his agent, 
Mr. Levy, had it printed and sent to the news- 
papers for publication. If Mr. Barrett wished 
to retain the good opinion of the people who 
like him as an actor, he should have made an 
apology for his agent. If he still wishes to be 
considered a worthy actor, a scholar and a gentle- 
man, he will ship Mr. Levy and get a gentleman 
for his agent. 

The American nation has been sorely abused 
by actors. The gayety of the American nature 
lends itself easily to excitement, but at the bot- 
tom of it all there is a strong vein of self-respect, 
which is asserting itself more and more every 
day. It is to such miserable dodges as men like 
Barrett's agent adopt that the ridicule of all 
England and Europe is due. It is to this lack 
of even common decency, when notoriety is in 
question, this disregard of the merest proprieties, 
that we owe the failure of American actors 
abroad. No country in the world would endure 
such open chicanery as is practiced here upon 
the public. In other countries they have bad 
actors and poor plays; but there is no part of 
the world where such trash and rot could obtain 
popularity and make so much money as that 
which is foisted upon America every year. Only 
the class which lays claim to little education, and 
no artistic taste, elsewhere supports the rubbish 
now piled into all our first -class theaters. Here, 
where money is of less value, anybody can scrape 
together a few hundred dollars, gather around 
him some needy actors atid actresses, and force 
himself upon the public in the most flagrant way, 
with encouragement. People are satisfied with 
going out and abusing them. If we had been in 
England, there have been fifty first nights when 
the gallery boys would have torn up the benches 
and peppered the performers. But those com- 
panies have always found their level in time. 
Now it is becoming fashionable among such men 
as Mr. Barrett to descend to the lowest tricks of 
advertising to make money. 

There is Tom Keenc traveling about the coun- 
try like a circus. If Keene travels for fifty years 
like this he will never have a place in the artistic 
circle of American actors. Edwin Booth, it is 
stated, has a company of amateurs. He cuts 
the most brilliant plays of Shakespeare to suit 
himself, and ruins his finest performances by bad 
support. We have heard but little of John Mc- 
Cullough lately. It is a sign that his phenom- 
enal pecuniary success was not at the same time 
such an artistic one as to make his presence or 
absence a matter of great interest to the public. 
Those four represent the great legitimate drama 
to-day, and not one of them is, under present 
conditions, embellishing the profession or adorn- 
ing the art. 

Among actresses, who is there? One can 
hardly call Clara Morris a great actress. She 
has three or four parts, and there she ends. 
Fanny Davenport is clever, possibly, in " Fe- 
dora." Fanny struggled long for recognition. 
It has come in a very substantial form, but we 
have yet to see what value she has acquired as 
an actress, and how much of her success is due 
to Sardou. Mrs. Bowers has practically retired. 
Rose Eytinge is heard of vaguely at times, but 
her best work has been done, and there seems to 
be little left for her but old women. Agnes 
Booth is fretting away her years. She had a po- 
sition with the Madison Square Theater, but she 
rose, like all flattered women, beyond the neces- 
sity of the occasion, and drifted off into the 
vague star-land where so many ambitious ac- 
tresses have been lost. The late eruption of 
public interest has, something like the Java 



earthquake, filled the dramatic space with fine 
dust that takes a glow of color from the printer's 
ink on the posters, and annoys the public by the 
impossibility of analysis. Rose Coghlan is not 
an American, but she is almost that. As long 
as Rose keeps her shape and does not grow too 
puffy in the face, she will retain her place in 
Wallack's and be much admired by both men 
and women. But she will never be a great 
actress. 

Mary Anderson is not as good an actress as 
Rose Coghlan, but she is prettier and more at- 
tractive. She will be a rich, popular and re- 
spected woman. She will never be re mem b ered 
for anything but her beauty and her virtue— and 
her success. I remember when Mary played 
Evadne and Meg Merrilles and sundry other 
canned tomatos at the California Theater. How 
mad she was when the critics scorched her! And 
how true their criticism of her is still! She 
went down to Flood & O'Brien and Macondray 
& Co. and the Bank of California, and got them 
to sign a remonstrance against the criticism, 
declaring her an actress of the finest artistic in- 
stinct. Then they all stopped away from her 
benefit. Mary does not like California now. 
But the people are just as likely as not to grow 
crazy over her if she ever conies back. Once in 
awhile I catch in the Eastern press the name of 
Mrs. Chanfrau. I think that if Chanfrau him- 
self came back with " Kit " he might make 
money. It is such an old friend. The best of 
the old actresses are in stock and combinations. 
Look at Mrs. Phillips, in the Union Square, 
and Mrs. Gilbert, in Daly's company. Mrs. 
John Drew, I fancy, has about left the dramatic 
world, and with her goes the old English comedy, 
never, perhaps, to return. 

There are few coming to take their places. Jef- 
freys-Lewis is one of the first, the first, in a certain 
line. A long way the most promising is a young 
woman yet. She is playing mild Alpine roses and 
suffering milk-and-water heroines at the Madison 
Square. Her name is Georgia Cayvan, and she 
is the future star in the strong emotional, if she 
does not prove equally good in heavier tragic 
role's. The gentle, lambent Sarah Jewett will 
be with us next week on a starring tour. I am 
inclined to think she will draw. In one or two 
parts she did very fine work during her visit 
with the Union Square Company. Her Leah 
in "Daniel Rochat," and her Lilian in "The 
Banker's Daughter," were both more than 
clever. And I think society rather liked Sarah. 
But there is no magnificent future for her. She 
is limited as much by physical as by spiritual 
disabilities. There are, therefore, but four men 
(unless I include Sheridan, who is in some re- 
spects the strongest of all, although he is lim- 
ited, too) and no women, who represent the his- 
trionic in to-day's record sufficiently well to 
find any noticeable place in history. 



" Paul and Virginia" is not a dollar and a 
half opera. I can imagine, with a petite prima" 
donna with an exquisite voice and light and 
graceful manners, Virginia might be a very 
oveable character and full of beauty. I can draw 
lan ideal Paul and fit him into the opera. But I 
do not think that Emma Abbott fits the first or 
Castle the second. If one wants to criticize on 
a basis of what is never found — perfection— he 
can say some very severe things about Miss Ab- 
bott's Virginia. He can say she is heavy, not 
graceful, robust, pronounced and aggressive. 
He can say that playfulness takes the place of 
ingenuousness, affectation of innocence, and ex- 
uberance is made to represent the joyous light- 
ness of heart of an exceptionally simple maiden. 
He can say that her voice is not smooth or 
sweet enough to give the flowing melody of 
Masse's music, and that the whole rendering of 
the part is mature and able-bodied. He can say 
that she accentuates her music far too strongly; 
that there is too much effort and too little voice, 
and that much of the composer's meaning is lost 
in the interpretation. But in spite of all her 
defects, it cannot be denied that Miss Abbott's 
weakness is entirely in means, and not in 
power or will; and, taken all through, I concede 
to the prima donna a distinct quality of art, a 
very unusual dramatic and musical intelligence, 
and more voice and ability than she has hereto- 
fore shown, because the part is one of the most 
difficult, musically, and it is made still more 
difficult to the robust physique and the Western 
nature of the prima donna. A quite suitable 
Paul would be hard to find. Perhaps Maas, as 
we knew him some years ago, would be most ap- 
propriate in voice and manner. As it is, Castle 
is a fit Paul to Miss Abbott's Virginia. The 
same difficulty of the music showed as markedly 
in him. His familiarity with operatic technique 
is always an agreeable feature in his perform- 
ance, and in two or three of the numbers, which 
can hardly be taking, he did some thoroughly 
good singing. I liked Mrs. Seguin better in her 
Mcala than in anything except Azuccna. Her 
rendering of an ingenious and strikingly dramatic 
song was brilliant, and she was, of all, the most 
entirely appropriate to her part. Signor Cam- 
pol>cllo sang the Uncle Tom Domingo part very 
artistically, and was especially well made up, as 
was also Mrs. Seguin. Mr. Broderick was not 
quite up to the mark, nor was the rest of the 
performance. 

The "Bamboula" is a quaint composition, 
but more French than Jamaican, and the dance 
is less a nigger dance than a savage perform- 



ance of some kind. " Paul and Virginia" is a 
grand opera on a very sentimental story. It is 
an exceptionally ingenious and intricate compo- 
sition, full of melodic quality beyond the ordi- 
nary, and altogether a very high-class work. It 
will never take the average public's taste, how- 
ever, and only a superb cast can bring out all 
its value. 

Gounod's "Romeo and Juliet" is a purely 
symphonic composition. There are so few voices 
that could follow its labored beauty with sus- 
tained effect, and there is so little in the work 
that seems to be intended for a voice, that it is 
never likely to take its place on the popular 
opera stage. Even as a musical effort, it is to 
l>e doubted if it is not wasted energy. There 
are many pretty, graceful movements in it. 
There arc a hundred little beauties, but none of 
sufficient value to the listener to induce him to 
sit it through more than once. It is net a happy 
effort, either in effect on an audience or in treat- 
ment of the subject. It is on an Italian story 
as related by an Englishman, and it has neither 
the fire and force of the Italian character nor 
the strong and earnest romantic spirit of Shake- 
speare. The music is rather indefinably inap- 
propriate. Modern, although written many 
years ago, it has still a classic quality. The 
waltz theme in the first act is the most taking, 
but Mcrcutio's part is talk, Tybalt's part is col- 
orless, the Nurse is commonplace, Capulet's 
music is straightforward and characterless, 
Juliet is a modern heroine singing in an un- 
changing, weary strain, and Romeo is a lover 
without the lightness of love. It is not the 
story of Romeo and Juliet any more than it 
might be the story of a loving couple of to-day; 
and Gounod, in it, has never once touched ihe 
theme or spirit of the original subject. In the 
orchestration lies a great deal that is lacking on 
the stage, and only a Thomas orchestra could 
do justice to that. No voice except Patti's, pos- 
sibly, could give effect to Juliet's music in any 
case, and it would require phenomenal singers 
all through to make the vocal part hold its own 
against the orchestra, even if it be admitted that 
vocal effort could make it a taking opera. It 
is a heavy, trying monotony, from beginning to 
end, lacking in variety of motive and in modula- 
tion of effect. As an opera, indeed, it is a 
failure; as a symphonic poem, a great deal 
might be made of it. That Miss Abbott should 
fail in Juliet, and Castle in Romeo, was only to be 
expected. Juliet is a part that brings out bril- 
liantly Abbott's vocal aneurisms. But the en- 
tire performance was bad. 



To-morrow night ends the Abbott engage- 
ment. On Monday evening Sarah Jewett opens 
in Celia Logan's " That Man," a name suggest - 
ive of anything but the kind of play it is. 
Henry Lee is her leading man. 



I wish Mr. Mapleson would not talk of " Her 
Majesty's " opera; but he thinks it, and perhaps 
finds it, a big advertisement. I cannot really 
make out what the trouble is. I know that Ma- 
pleson has had a great deal of fuss with Patti 
and Gerster all the time. Some say that Patti 
is jealous of Gerster; others that Gerster will 
not' concede anything to Patti. Mapleson is a 
great manager in being able to keep his company 
or any part of it together as he does. If I were 
he I would get the rival prima donnas and ten- 
ors and things out on the plains and dump them 
off the cars in some western wild and let them 
come to their senses. If managers, who always 
lose money on such people, would leave them 
religiously alone until they were willing to be 
Christian in their terms and sensible in their 
conduct, the public would willingly wait for 
them. But we have just as much curiosity as 
other people, and if we cannot satisfy it for less, 
we must, I suppose, pay the price. I don't 
know whether Patti and Gerster arc coming or 
not. Colonel Mapleson's silence simply means, 
I suppose, that if he can get them here in time, 
they'll come; if not, why, they will not. That's 
all about it. 

The week at the California has been thin, and 
when Sheridan goes away, which he does after 
this week, Jeffreys-Lewis comes to the theater 
for two weeks. Bert fondly hopes she'll smash 
Sarah Jewett. But Sarah Jewett is a novelty, 
and may lake a good deal of smashing. "Arti- 
cle 47 " is a piece of the old school. It is 
another bad woman, and Jeffreys-I -ewis, who is 
one of the few actresses who arc good off, is 
the best bad woman on the stage. 



If any one wants to sec clever bicycle-riding, 
and a very fine wire-walking performance, let 
him go to the Hush Street. If he wants to hear 
noisy variety business, see wild-horse play and 
listen to that kind of " act " which is more or 
less clever vulgarity, let him go to the same 
theater. But Wainratla is Ihe neatest |>erformer 
on a slack wire that I have ever seen, and he 
goes through the business with an assurance 
and grace that arc quite enjoyable. 

The minstrels keep on their regular business. 
Opera or drama, variety or tragedy, it makes no 
difference to them. Their well-worn nigger acts 
make laughter, and every now and again they 
freshen their bill with a little spice of novelty; 
and Emerson and Reed divide their little profits 
all the same at the end of the week. Volage. 



THE MYSTERIES OF SAN FRANCINi 



It is better to be born lucky than rich, and if 
one happen to come into the world under neither 
of these favorable conditions, then Ihe next best 
thing to do is to clothe himself with the impene- 
trable air of mystery. San Francisco is a young 
town, but it is full of "mysteries." How they 
manage to exist is a problem that puzzles the 
multitude of their acquaintances, but is rarely 
solved. To this mysterious class of beings the 
divine edict that man shall earn his bread by the 
sweat of his brow has no significance. If they 
earn their bread at all, they do so without tin- 
waste of much muscular tissue, except it be of 
the tendons of their jaws, which are generally 
developed to an abnormal degree. 'I he existence 
of these persons of hazy antecedents, and exist- 
ing circumstances even more opaque, seems to 
be as uneventful and happy as thai of the ances- 
tral couple on Iheir first walk in Eden. They 
toil not, neither do they spin, and yet fair rai- 
ment, regular diet and a comfortable place to 
lay his head arc the certainties of each "mys- 
tery's" life. A saying which enjoys some popu- 
larity is that a man can live without work but 
in three ways — namely, begging, borrowing or 
stealing. All of these industries entail so much 
labor on Ihe person who engages in them that 
he virtually conforms to the scriptural ordinance 
and cams his bread by a great expenditure of 
|>erspiration. Beyond and outside the highways 
that lead to the penitentiary or the almshouse, 
there must be many pathways that lead the 
adventurous through lands where milk and honey 
are abundant and the eye of the policeman is 
never vigilant. In no other way can the abun- 
dance of " mysteries " in the community be ex- 
plained. It is easy to say of a man that he is a 
loafer, but the broad classification leaves much 
unexplored ground for the inquisitive mind. 
The term loafer may seem to many to 
embrace in its significance the small army of 
well-dressed idlers that poses for ins|>cction on 
Kearny street in favorable weather. A closer 
investigation of the field of observation would 
show, however, that the loafers are sadly in the 
minority. Some of the apparently indolent ones 
are barkeepers off watch; other pseudo men of 
fashion and leisure are barbers temporarily re- 
leased from their shears, bootblacks taking a 
holiday, hackmen out of employment, car-con- 
ductors enjoying the fruits of their honest in- 
dustry before taking a ticket for Europe, gam- 
blers awaiting the shades of evening to resume 
their exhausting labors. All these the educated 
eye of the man-aboul-town can classify at a 
glance, segregating with unconscious case the 
followers of undignified but honest industry 
from the professors of remunerative rascality. 
But outside these there are a number of persons 
in every large city, and especially in San Fran- 
cisco, who baffle the discrimination of the man- 
about-town, and are so difficult to classify that 
the only denomination which fits them easily is 
"mysteries." Black Bart, the most enterpris- 
ing of highwaymen, was for a long time the most 
inscrutable of Bush-street mysteries. The no- 
torious robber was one of the six or seven 
thousand who pose for the public admiration as 
statesmen, and miss no opportunity to show 
that they can grasp Ihe edge of a beer- 
counter with as much confidence as the 
reins of government. It is not impossi- 
ble that in the heyday of his liberty Black 
Bart may have been mistaken by many for 
one of the army of theatrical mysteries who 
claim much professional distinction but never 
step on a stage in public except to handle lum- 
ber or brick. The industrious highwayman may 
have been classed by some superficial observers 
as a member of the battalion of dramatic au- 
thors and special correspondents of foreign 
journals, whose work, whenever it comes from 
the press, ap]>ears in the attractive form of hay- 
bales. It is even possible that some person may 
have regarded the enterprising road-agent as 
one of the fifteen thousand legal mysteries, who 
are only prevented froi%ornamenting the bar by 
the scarcity of fractional currency in the pro- 
fession, and who, in consequence, are forced to 
decorate the sidewalk and tax public credulity 
and police surveillance. A well-known jour- 
nalist, with a laste for Ihe mysterious, has lately 
been civing the subject of unclassifiable hu- 
manity much of his attention, and it is whim- 
pered that the work which he will shortly pro- 
duce will rival in interest the Sharon-Hill cor- 
respondence and the epistolary effusions of 
Citizen Huntington. Several startling facts are 
promised us about the Palace Hotel, and the 
chapters devoted to the inspection of Pine and 
Ixidesdorlf streets are said to fairly bristle with 
sensations. At the risk of spoiling the sale of 
the immense edition which is being printed, we 
will state that one of the author's astounding 
conclusions is that Orator Kidneys, the great 
greenback organizer, is none other than Nena 
Sahib, the author of the "Cawnpore Massacre." 
Having made such a remarkable discovery, it is 
not strange that the journalistic detective should 
supplement his first sensation with the thrilling 
intelligence that Barney Dougherty, the agitator, 
is the real Charley Ross, and Sam Barrell the 
true heir to the Tichborne estates. The publi- 
cation of the book will be a cruel blow to the 
pride of General Barnes and others who have 
been looking for the lost baronet in distant 
countries, while he was daily jostling up against 
them on California street. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



RF.TKOSPF.CTTON. 



BV CLINTON SCOLI.ARD. 



' To-night there's a hush 'mong the roses, 

The casement wide open is thrown, 
A glimmer of starlight discloses 

Pale virginal lilies full-blown; 
I breathe the sweet cool air inflowing 

From meadows besprent with the clew 
Where the maidenly daisies are growing. 

And think, my old comrade, of you. 

I hear that you're feted and lauded, 

That the world knows your face and your name, 
That your speeches are loudly applauded. 

That you're climbing the ladder of fame; 
Yet in spite of it all I still wonder 

If you're heart -free and happy as when 
Like brothers we twain wandered under # 

The sycamores shading the glen 

How well T recall all the longing 

You used to confide in those days, 
And the visions that ever came thronging 

Your brain, of the world and its ways! 
How blissful it was to go drifting 

Adown the calm river at morn, 
Aurora her bright brow uplifting, 

And Dian a- winding her horn! 

How we loved to recline on the grasses, 

When afternoon breezes were cool, 
And gaze at the mountainous masses 

Of clouds in the depths of the pool ! 
How at twilight we lingered to listen 

To the low vesper song of the birds. 
Till we saw the bright fireflies out-glisten 

Among the late-pasturing herds! 

Ah, those days are like images graven 

Upon some dark room of my brain! 
Now and then, in that dim-lighted haven, 

I joyfully see them again; 
And I turn from the wrangle and quarrel, 

From the strife for success and renown, 
To think of the bay-leaf and laurel 

And dream I have won me a crown. 



RAISING THEIR STATUS. 



Some leading philanthropists of this city are taking 
steps to ameliorate the condition of the restaurant waiters, 
a class of servants now treated with anything but the 
respectful consideration w hich they deserve by their en- 
ergy, courtesy and intelligence. As it is, any person who 
possesses the small amount of money requisite for the 
purchase of a cup of coffee and a plate of fried sausage 
may, to an outrageous extent, lord it over the unhappy 
waiter who takes his order. The public idea of a waiter's 
duties is altogether erroneous, and in some respects shame- 
fully unjust. For example, when a customer drops into 
a chop-house and finds the waiter engaged in perusing a 
newspaper, he deems it his privilege to interrupt the 
literary feast with an imperious demand for a plate of 
shrimps or a dish of crab-legs. If the order be not served 
within the space of an hour and a half, the enraged auto- 
crat considers it the correct thing to become blatantly 
insulting or offensively sarcastic. If the cook fondles his 
chop too long, the ill-tempered patron indulges in offensive 
inquiries as to whether the butcher has yet skinned the 
sheep. In every possible manner the fact is thrust on the 
long-suffering waiter that he is regarded as a mere lackey, 
whose duty it is to fly at the beck of any solvent patron of 
the establishment. That this is contrary to all ideas of 
republican independence needs no convincing argument, 
and the work of correcting it ought to be both easy and 
rapid. 

The Waiters' Protective Association, at its next meet- 
ing, will adopt a series of resolutions calculated to ameli- 
orate the condition of its members and raise them to the 
position of respect and independence worthy of their 
responsible and onefous profession. Among these re- 
formatory resolutions are the follow ing highly commend- 
able ones : 

Resolved, That in future no waiter shall be known as a flunk 
or flunkey, and that any restaurant-keeper applying either of 
these offensive titles to any member of this Association shall be 
immediately discharged. 

Resolved, That impertinence from guests shall not be tolerated 
under any circumstances. 

Resolved, That it shall be deemed impertinence when a guest, 
on entering a dining-room, attempts by word, sign or gesture, to 
lorce himself on the notice of the attendants. 

Resolved, That the waiter shall in all cases be the judge of the 
Quality of the food served by him, anil that any appeal from his 
decision shall cause the appellant to be expelled and his check 
raised to thrice the schedule rate. 

Resolved, That whistling at waiters by customers shall be 
deemed a disturbance of the peace, and such exclamations as 
"hey, there! " "hullo! " etc., shall be considered language cal- 
culated to justify a breach of the peace. 

Resolved, That any customer indulging in profanity through 
the spilling of hot soup or scalding coffee over his Sunday 
clothes shall be liable to a reprimand, and on repetition of his 
offense to perpetual banishment from the restaurant where the 
offense is committed. 

Resolved, That the service of two orders an hour shall be 
considered a faithful discharge of duty only where six hours 
constitute a day's work. In establishments where longer hours 
are exacted the number of orders shall be proportionately less ; 
provided, however, that under no circumstances shall the service 
of any one order occupy a greater space of time than three hours. 

Resolved, That two hours of the morning and one of the 
evening shall be set apart for the perusal of the daily papers, 
and that any customer calling; within said hours shall trust to 
the sympathy or friendship of the waiter for the fulfillment of his 
order. 



Resolved, That no proprietor who fails to furnish his pantry 
with lounges and his kitchen with rocking-chairs and spring- 
beds shall", under any circumstances, be hired by this Association. 

Resolved; That any customer, on the payment of $5 a week, 
shall be entitled to such extension of these privileges as the Lx- 
ecutive Committee mav see fit to grant. 

Resolved, That the 'term "waiter" l>cing likely to lead to a 
confusion of the patrons of restaurants anil the attendants, it is 
hereby dropped, and the organization is designated the Protective 
Order of Hash-house Highbinders. 

It is hoped that these reasonable provisions will inspire 
the public with the resjiect now painfully lacking. 



A REMINISCENCE OF BARN AG AT. 



BY CHAS. F. HINCHMAN. 



One Sunday, years ago, I went to church in Barnagat. 
Barnagat is in New Jersey. It is a village inhabited 
almost entirely by wreckers, who are supposed, by those 
who don't know them, to devote themselves to saving life 
and property when the sea casts ships ashore on the dan- 
gerous coast. In reality the Barnagaters live by plunder- 
ing the unfortunates sent by Providence into their hands. 
It is believed by many that the Barnagat wrecker does not 
stick at murder when he can profit by it. 

The church was filled with wreckers the Sunday I was 
there. Theirs is a dull life enough, and church-going 
breaks its monotony. Possibly, too, the wrecker man- 
ages to square his trade and piety with his conscience. 
It seemed as if all Barnagat was at church, save the look- 
outs left to watch the stormy sea for possible incoming 
prizes. The preacher— an old man with little eyes, stiff 
white hair that stood straight up, and a voice that rasped 
like a rusty chain in a hawse-hole — was holding forth on 
the miraculous draught of fishes, and held the attention 
of his rough audience. Suddenly the door of the little 
church was thrown open and a red-headed man, his eyes 
flaming with excitement, rushed in, came to a halt, and 
making a trumpet of his hands shouted out : 

" A wreck ! a wreck !" 

Instantly every man was on his feet, making for the 
door. 

" Hold on !" screamed the man of God, in tones so 
loud and passionate that the retreating congregation in- 
stinctively obeyed. 

Springing from the pulpit with an agility wonderful in 
one of his years, the parson pushed his way through the 
crowd to the door, and then turning, said: 

" Brethren, give every man a fair chance !" 

When I reached the door the venerable pastor 
was heading for the beach with the speed of a 
jack-rabbit, holding his own in the race with the young- 
est and fleetest of his flock. I learned later that a dia- 
mond ring from a dead woman's finger was his rever- 
ence's reward for his presence of mind and running 
powers. 



LITERARY RESURRECTIONISTS. 



BV CHARLES T. CONDON. 



A venerable poet and philanthropist, taking alarm at 
the inconsiderate way in which the relicts of the distin- 
guished dead are put into market overt, is reported to 
nave burned all his friend's letters, and to have requested 
his friends to burn his own. Observing the freedom, we 
may say license, in which modern editors indulge, he 
might we 11 take such precaution. 

if the world concedes to an author fame, notoriety, or 
the more substantial reward of lucre, it requires a good 
deal of him in return. It may secure him copyright, but 
by way of set-off, it asserts a kind of personal property in 
himself. It perpetuates his physiognomy, and it makes 
merchandise of his autograph. It puts upon historic 
record his most private peculiarities — his diet and dress, 
the incidents of his childhood, the errors of his manhood, 
and the frailties of his old age. It demands with an om- 
niverous appetite not only his own story to the minutest 
particular, but also that of his friends, and is content 
with nothing less than his diary and the whole mass of 
his most confidential correspondence. It would inspect 
his accounts with his publisher; it would know all about 
his quarrels with his editors— w hat articles they graciously 
accepted, and what they positively declined to print. So 
soon as he has gone to his account, the doors of his study 
are thrown open, that anybody may inspect his unfinished 
wares, see trie tools which he used, decipher his most 
careless memoranda, guess at his tricks of style and his 
manner of beginning and ending, know of his failures 
and the abominable devices to which he resorted, and, 
carefully collecting from floor and waste-basket, from 
desk and cabinet, his literary litter, proceed to print it for 
the delectation of the curious, the satisfaction of the cen- 
sorious, and the amusement of the idle. He may be 
sincerely regretted, but there is substantial consolation 
in the money to be made out of his demise. There 
is to be the great biography authorized by the family, 
and the little biographies unauthorized by critical de- 
cency. The monthly magazines are hungry for frag- 
ments. The small writers, who have no fame of their 
own, hurry to furnish us with their estimate of what 
he could do, of what he could not do, and of what he 
did. Mr. Thackeray is dissected by Mr. Trollope. Mr. 
Longfellow becomes the prey of various bookmakers 
who were never heard of before and never will be heard 
of again. Mr. Carlyle, for all the ill-natured things which 
he said of others, undergoes a special retribution, and is 
written about in a vulgar way, which if he were living 
would drive him mad, or possibly betray him into man- 
slaughter. With astounding obtuseness the family of Mr. 
Dickens print his letters, with the result of showing him 



to have been fretful, vain, selfish and unjust. Mr. Haw- 
thorne is the victim of several family factions, each of 
which prints against the other whatever it can snatch 
from his manuscripts. Mr. Emerson is so bewritten that 
one hardly cares to think of the confusion with which so 
much and such scribbling, in his lifetime, would have 
overwhelmed him. 

The father of the modern school of English biography 
was undoubtedly Boswell. Before the "Life of Dr. 
Johnson," many admirable autobiographies were written ; 
but this was, it we may say so, the first autobiography 
written by another hand. There are occasional hooks, 
like " Spence's Anecdotes," which remind us of Boswell ; 
there were a few collections of corres|jondcnce like that 
of Swift, I'ope, Gay and Bolingbroke— letters which were 
not really letters, w ritten, as they were, for anybody to 
read, and with a constant thought of future publication, 
but rather essays in an epistolary form, with a perpetual 
effort at wit, and, in spite of so many protestations of 
friendship, somewhat hard and formal. But it was Bos- 
well who found out the expedient of taking the roof 
from off the house, exhibiting the hero in undress and at 
slippered ease — of painting the portrait with absolute and 
dangerous fidelity. It is a curious evidence of the im- 
mense authority of Dr. Johnson, while living, that the 
moment the breath was out of his ponderous body all 
the scribblers in London began to write about him, to 
collect anecdotes concerning him, and to give the world 
their idea of his genius. Fortunately for Dr. Johnson, 
he had loved writing too little and he had published too 
promptly to leave behind him any half-finished and un- 
satisfactory work. The curiosity, therefore, which preys 
upon the remains of genius was obliged to satisfy itself 
with a minute narrative of the great man's manners or 
want of manners, with stories of his dictatorial style of 
putting people down, with samples of his sesquipedalian 
speech, and with many other characteristics which, in a 
smaller person, would have been thought of no import- 
ance. There was only one way of writing such a man's 
life, and Boswell hit upon it with singular felicity. Yet 
he stands almost alone. Many men have tried his 
method, and many have failed in doing so. Boswell's 
work is valuable, particularly because Johnson himself 
was mainly a man of society. The question still arises 
how far it is worth while to pry too closely into the pri- 
vate lives of those whose writings have arrested attention 
or won admiration. Of very few men of genius can it 
be said that a minute knowledge of their lives is neces- 
sary for a satisfactory elucidation of their works. Of the 
greatest of them, we know already that they were 
human. The world is no stranger to their weaknesses, 
their irritability, their jealousies, their indolence, or pos- 
sibly their sensuality and selfishness. Enough of these 
things comes down to us by tradition. Moreover, some- 
thing is due to writers in return for the services which 
often, amidst many difficulties and through much dis- 
couragement, they have rendered to their fellow-creatures. 
Dr. Johnson put the whole matter succinctly when, upon 
the death of Goldsmith, he said : " Let not his frailties 
be remembered — he was a very great man ! " Men of 
genius are the least entitled to those ordinary civilities 
which enlightened communities recognize, and without 
which the lives of all of us would be intolerable. They 
are quite as much deserving of the amenities, living or 
dead, as the meanest of mankind. By what right, after 
they are gone and incapable of defending themselves, are 
they to be exhibited for the public amusement, and 
usually for a pecuniary consideration? Why should the 
estimation in which they are held be thus inevitably les- 
sened? Often this would be judging them as they were 
judged in the days of their early struggle and poverty, 
when the bookseller sneered at them over the counter, 
gave them in the back shop the fragments of an earlier 
dinner, and paid them wages with which a hind or a hod- 
man would have been dissatisfied. We claim something 
for the dignity of letters. We have no fear that anything 
important will be lost by a decent reticence, or by cover- 
ing up the dead Caesar and remembering only how he 
crossed the Rubicon. — North American Review. 



BOUCICAULT'S WATERLOO. 



Dion Boucicault was playing an engagement at Jack- 
sonville, Florida, not very long ago, and the curtain had 
just gone down on the third act of the " Colleen Bawn," 
when a tall, professor-like individual advanced to the 
front of one of the boxes and propounded the following 
unlooked for conundrum to the audience : 

" Ladies and gentlemen, why is it that Shakspeare is 
the only real dramatist the world has ever produced ? " 

As nobody replied, the tall man went on earnestly. 

" Is it because of his marvelous knowledge of human 
nature, or his wonderful command of language and ex- 
pression? Not at all. Other writers have equaled him 
in these respects, but the immortal bard is the only dra- 
matist who recognized the evident fact that in real life vice 
is not punished and virtue is not rewarded, as the sickly, 
sentimental playwrights of to-day would have us believe. 
There is no last-act make-up-all-around-everybody-get- 
married business in his plays. Look at ' Othello ! ' 
That's the way matters wind up in real life. Look at 
Romeo and Juliet. No happy denouement about them. 
My advice to the public, therefore, is to never sit a play 
out. Always leave before the la.'t act, just when the 
trouble, villainy and heart-breaking is at its worst, and 
you will get the real realism and naturalness." 

" Go on ! Go on ! " said the audience, which seemed 
to be profoundly impressed with his reasoning. 

"I have nothing more to say," continued the critic, 
putting on his hat, " except that the curtain will be rung 
up in a minute. I move that we now adjourn ! " 

And Boucicault says that when the curtain went up he 
was dumbfounded to observe that there was not a soul 
left in the house.— Des Moines Saturday Mail. 

The Graphic knows of places in New York where it 
can get stale beer for a cent a glass. The Graphic w ill 
find that it pays better in the long run to get the best. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



NINETEEN. 



BY CLYDE HARRON. 



I see the children at their play, 

I hear their laughter ring, 
I note the glatl birds' joyous lay 

That heralds back the spring. 

All nature smiles in harmony, - 
Naught wears a look forlorn; 

There seems to be a jubilee 
On this, my birthday morn. 

Yet I, unheeding, hear their songs, 
The blithe birds' joyous lay; 

The gladness to their lives belongs, 
Not to my natal day. 

It seems as if the children's years 

(I stop my trembling pen, 
To wipe away these blinding tears) 

But mock my nine-and-ten. 

I envy all their childish sport, 

I long to join their play; 
I feel as if from childhood's port 

I just had sailed away. 

Then must I bid farewell to all 

That blooms 'neath childhood's skies? 

Ah, that I could but now recall 
The once neglected prize! 

O Time, you'll hear this sad refrain, 

And answer back in scorn, 
By hurrying on in rapid train 

Another birthday morn. 

But, Father, grant, in mercy kind, 

Each year may nobler be, 
And that each birthday morn shall find 

Me nearer unto Thee! 



BRIGHT PEOPLE IN AUTOGRAPH ALBUMS. 



A singular pamphlet has made its appearance. It is a 
description of autographs in the possession of a Mr. Bok, 
of New York, who, during three years, has gathered 
together a very remarkable list of letters. The labor and 
persistence required in procuring so large a collection 
can only be appreciated by those who have gone abeg- 
ging for even a few such favors. Mr. Bok is said to stand 
at the head of autograph collectors in this country, and 
it is exceedingly doubtful whether so unique a treasury is 
to be found in the hands of any one individual in Europe. 
The following extracts will give a foretaste of a pamphlet 
which cannot fail to prove of much interest : 

End is there none to the univere of God; and lo! also there is 
no beginning. Richard A. Proctor. 

Washington, November i, 1881. 
DEAR Sir: How much timeannually do you think you waste 
in seeking autographs which are of no more value than mine? 
Your friend, James G. Blaine. 

What the lightning is to the oak, that would be the woman's 
vote to the whisky ring. Joseph Cook. 

" Speak only good of the dead " is a sentimental way of advis- 
ing the living to lie — at least as regards the usual run of dead 
people. Samuel L. Clemens. 

" Mark Twain." 
" For there's on earth a yet auguster thing, 
Veil'd tho' it be, than Parliament or king." 

John Bright. 

" One Ash," Rockdale, Jan. 30, 1883.— Reputation is for time; 
character is for eternity. John B. Gough, 

Worcester, Mass. 

Whenever there be one high or low that gives me a place on 
the roll of kindly remembered names, to him go the thanks and 
kind greetings and wishes of Roscoe CoNKLING. 

It is better to love your wife than to love God. You cannot 
help Him, but you can help her. You can fill her life with the 
perfume of perpetual joy. It is better to love your children than 
to love Jesus Christ. If He is God you cannot assist Him, but 
you can plant a flower in every foot -Hep of a babe. The most 
sacred temple is the home; the holiest altar is the fireside. 

Robert G. Ingersoll. 

Advice to the young: Knowledge, economy and labor are the 
shining virtues of civilized man. They form the most enduring 
basis of society and the surest source of national and individual 
welfare. Peter Cooper. 

Flowers are the grandest things that God ever made without 
putting an immortal soul into them. 

Henry Ward BeeCHBK. 

Music and poetry must blend to be perfect. 

Minnie Hauk. 

I never received your letter. Nothing is certain in the world. 
Even the Pope sometimes fails, and the post no less. 

John Stuart Blackie. 

Time is Money. P. T. Barnum, 

Bridgeport, Conn. 

The chastity uv women is the salvashun ov the world. 

John Hillings, 
Glen House, White Mountains. 

What a divine calling is music. Though everything else may 
appear shallow and repulsive, even the smallest task in music is 
so absorbing, and carries us away so far from town country, 
earth, and all the worldly things, that it is truly'a blessed gift 
from God. Adklina Patti. 

Learning has fulfilled but half its task if it has taught the 
mind and not ihe heart. Jefferson Davis. 

— New York World. 



" You say the officer arrested you while you were 
quietly minding your own business? " 

"Yes, your Honor. He caught me suddenly by the 
coat -collar and threatened to strike me with his club un- 
less I accompanied him to the station-house." 

"You were quietly attending to your own business; 
making no noise or disturbance of any kind?" 

" None whatever, sir." 

" It seems very strange. What is your business? " 
" I 'm a burglar." 



VIRGIL AND VITICULTURE IN TUSCANY. 



If Virgil found it impossible to enumerate the different 
kinds of grapes and their names, how much more so is it 
the case to-day ? But his praises of the Falernian wine 
are well deserved. White Falernian is excellent, and 
has an aroma and bouquet of its own, withal strong and 
generous. Tuscany is deservedly proud of her "Chi- 
anti," and " Yin Santo " from any respectable " fattoria " 
is not to be despised. But the worst of Italian wines is, 
that you are seldom sure of getting the same class of 
wine two years running. 

The manner of making wine has not changed since the 
time of Virgil. The white oxen bring the grapes from 
the fields, in a vat on an unwieldy, heavy ox-cart, painted 
scarlet, to the place where the vats are. The grapes are 
emptied out into tall wooden pails without handles, 
which the men carry on their shoulders. The grapes are 
poured into the immense open vats, where they are 
stamped upon night and morning by the bare-legged 
peasants, to prevent the upper stratum of grapes becom- 
ing acid by too long a contact with the air. When 
the fermentation has ceased the clear must is run 
off; a man gets into the the vat and pitchforks the murk 
into pails again, which are emptied into the winepress. 
As a pictorial subject this press is delightful, but it is in- 
convenient and extremely wasteful. Two huge posts of 
wood support an immense beam, through which works a 
wooden screw, finishing at the bottom in a square 
block of wood with two square holes straight through it. 
Under this stands what is called the cage, a round', vat- 
shaped, iron-clamped receptacle, made of strong bars of 
wood. The murk is put into this, and when it is full 
round slabs of wood, like colossal cheeses, are piled on 
the top of the murk. Then a long pole is stuck into one 
of the square holes at the bottom of the screw, and to 
the other end is hooked a rope, which is secured round a 
turning pillar of wood about eight feet off, with a handle 
against which three or four men throw their whole weight. 
Slowly, with many creaks and groans, the huge block of 
wood descends on the round slabs and the rope curls 
round the pillar, while from between the bars of the press 
gushes out a dark, turpid, dirty-looking liquid, which one 
can hardly believe will ever turn into ruby wine. This 
operation is repeated by unhooking the rope, lifting the 
beam out of the hole, and carrying it, on a man's 
shoulder, to the hole behind, until the murk by sheer 
physical torce is pressed into a compact mass and con- 
tains no more liquid. 

Virgil's excellent advice about thoroughly seasoning 
and breaking up the land before planting vines is carried 
out to the letter in Tuscany, where the ditcher makes a 
trench at least six feet deep and four feet wide, which is 
left open to sun, wind and rain for six months or a year 
before it is again filled in, after having been drained in a 
rough and ready manner by pitching all available stones 
into the bottom of the trench. The vine-cuttings, or, 
better still, two-year-old rooted plants, are then planted 
two on each side of a young maple tree destined for their 
support. If a vineyard is to be made, the quincunx sys- 
tem, recommended by Virgil, is always followed, and 
you will still hear the head of the gang of workmen say- 
ing "they must be like soldiers, properly in line." A 
little further on you will see a sturdy peasant following 
the plow, and others sowing and hoeing over the field; 
one at least will be singing a " stomello " at the top of 
his voice. Their legs- are generally bare far above the 
knee. Down in the valley, by the brawling streamlet, 
whose course you can trace far away into the blue dis- 
tance by the double line, of tall' poplars, glinting in the 
sun, grow the tall, graceful, blue-green canes. What 
would they do in Tuscany without the "canne?" Hedges 
are mended, young trees staked, and vines trained on 
" canne." They need no care, and are as useful as they 
are ornamental. 

The warning against planting olive trees in the vine- 
yards, for fear of fire, is no longer regarded; on the con- 
trary, olives are very generally planted in the new fashioned 
" vigne alia francese," or vineyards according to the 
French system, partly because they give very little shade, 
and partly with an eye to the future, in case the dreaded 
phylloxera were to devastate Italy, when the unhappy 
proprietors would have at least their olive trees to fall 
back upon. The tree sacred to Pallas will grow on the 
wild mountain side, in the white marl, which is so poor 
that even the vine needs a very large quantity of manure 
in order to succeed well. Virgil's advice to study the 
color of the soil is borne out in the Tuscan proverb — 

White earth is soon exhausted; 
Black earth bears good wheat. 

Vines are still planted and trained as in Virgil's day ; 
■*and, alas! his warning against the "poison of the hard 
tooth " of sheep and goats still holds good. Would that 
all goats had long ago been sacrificed to Bacchus! 

The care of vines, as Virgil says, is never-ending; the 
ground must be dug over three or four times in the year, 
and the clods broken with the back of the hoe. As soon 
as the labor of the vintage is finished that of pruning be- 
gins. If the 'Tuscans laid lo heart what the poet so truly 
observes — 

Be the first to dig the ground, 
lie the latest to reap the produce, 

'The wine would much improve. As a rule the grapes in 
'Tuscany are picked tOO soon, with a consequent loss of 
saccharine and alcohol in the wine. 'The old saying, 
though, " Fammi povera, ti faro ricco " — make me poor, 
I will make thee rich— is being more followed, and the 
vines are more scientifically pruned, and with better in- 
struments. — Longman 's Magazine. 



Many Washington ladies now write themselves " Mrs. 
Secretary ," " Mrs. General ," and " Mrs. Com- 
modore ." We hope the style will spread until such 

signatures as the following become common : " Mrs. 

Dry Goods Clerk ■," "Mrs. Butcher ," "Mrs. 

Cobbler ," "Mrs. Barber ,""Mrs. Hod-Carrier 

," etc. — Oil City Derrick. 



BONN PIATT ON WENDELL PHILLIPS. 



While I write the press puts to record the death of 
W r endell Phillips, the boldest and most gifted orator our 
country ever knew. 

It was a strange gift of winning utterance that he pos- 
sessed, coming from the intellect and addressed to the 
intellect, w ithout the slightest admixture of heart -feeling 
in it. He had none of that personal magnetism thai rap- 
tures crowds, as Clay, Corwin, and other popular orators 
were and are wont to exert without effort. I [e stood be- 
fore his audience cold and repellent as an icicle, w hile 
his sentences, terse, incisive, and sparkling, cut like 
razors, so sharp their cutting was not felt, but seen in the 
awful wounds they made. 

His utterances, charming to the cultured mind, because 
of their originality and truth, emanated more from hate 
that love. He was the greatest anti-slavery advocate the 
world ever knew, without a particle of love for the slave 
he sought to liberate. His hate of the master was New 
Englandish in its origin, but so intensified in his being 
that it seemed to banish from him every other human 
attribute. His wrath at an oppressor was something his 
words only could express. 

His existence, I believe, was shortened through his love 
of occupation. All his active life he fought in a hope- 
less minority. He led a forlorn hope of bitter Abolition- 
ists, and gloried in his leading. One day, to his amaze- 
ment, he found the world swung round to his side, and 
that without being influenced in the slightest by 
aught that he had argued in behalf of freedom. 'The 
South madly sought to fight its way out ol the Union; 
the North fought to keep it in, and in the conflict slavery 
ended, 

'The South did not fight to retain its slaves, the North 
did not kill to free slaves; but the result was the freedom 
of the negro. 

In that armed conflict the brilliant battling of the 
orator against the masses came to an end. He bade 
farewell, Othello-like, to "the pride, pomp and circum- 
stance of glorious war." From that out, until yesterday, 
when he died, he rusted out and went rapidly to pieces. 

His stormy life illustrates how little humanity is moved 
or influenced by what we consider its great motive power, 
called intellect. W 7 e go about stuffing ourselves with a 
different belief. We are a nation of phrase-eaters, and 
one of our favorite canned foods is that " knowledge is 
power." We point to our common schools, our press 
and free speech, and say, See how this world of ours is 
moved. 

Yet here we were with a monstrous evil, for slavery was 
the sum total of all villainy, piled upon us, staining our 
so-called republic with the most wretched contradiction, 
a cruel wrong to a helpless race, a shame to our civiliza- 
tion, tolerated by the church and guaranteed by the con- 
stitution, and yet '.he century-long appeal of heart and 
brain to the people produced only a handful of Aboli- 
tionists, that, but a year before the war, was as readily 
mobbed at the North as they were hanged in the South. 
He got into a sectional struggle, and Cuff, taking advan- 
tage of it, dropped his hoe-handle and quit work. He 
has never since resumed. It is easy, as Mother Goose 
tells us, to break the egg, but all King George's men can 
not restore it. 

How many of this fifty millions heard or read Wendell 
Phillips, or, hearing, heeded his silvery-tongued utter- 
ances, beyond teaching him that the American Eagle is 
given to laying rotten eggs? 

I will wager my comic opera of Reno against a year's 
subscription to The Hatchet, that you cannot find five 
hundred men in this million in and about New York who 
have ever read or heard Wendell Phillips. 

I hear about me the roar of this great city. 'The multi- 
tudinous tramp of feet is upon its streets, and the hum of 
human industry makes the air tremulous with its cease- 
less endeavor. 'The one man in a million — the brave- 
hearted and inspired advocate of human rights — lies dead, 
and the world roars on. There be big fish and beautiful 
fish in the sea, but they do not control its waves nor direct 
its storms. — Washington Hatchet. 



PHILADELPHIA "CALL" HUMOR. 



Oscar W'ilde's career as an esthete is ended. Dancing 
around a floor on a cold night, with a colicky baby, is in- 
compatible with sunflower worship. 

Shakespeare said " there's good in everything," but ii 
must' be remembered in lustice to the divine William that 
he never saw Henry Irving play Hamlet. 

Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes contradicts the cable story 
that he is going to England to lecture. Well, who will 
go? 'This country ought to get even with England in 
some way. 

Mrs. Piatt has written a poem to show that the only 
perfectly happy woman is dead. 'This, however, must be 
a mistake. She was alive and well when we left home 
this morning. 

Philadelphians fall dead at the opera.— Boston Post. 
Such cases have happened here, but don't blame the 
opera. 'The shock ot learning the rates for seats may 
have something to do with it. 

First Preacher. So it seems Mr. 'Talmagc is going to 
lecture on "Journalism? " 

Second /'readier. Well, I declare! It beats all how 
these lecturers will persist in selecting subjects they know 
nothing about. 

First Preacher. Yes; that's the way. He will be tack- 
ling religion next. 

At a recent private ball in New York a new figure was 
introduced at the close of the german. 'The dancers 
were harnessed by silken ribbons in groups of three 
abreast — on one side three ladies driven by a man, and 
on the other three men driven by a lady— and thus to 
polka music they danced from one end of the large ball 
room to the other. The curious part of the whole busi- 
ness was thai none of the spectators uere taken sick. 



1 6 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THE RAILROAD QUESTION. 



K Y S. R. MOIKFTT. 



To cool observers nt a distance, neither sick- 
in our present railroad war appears in a very 
flattering light. It is largely a war of epithets, 
the principal argument of one faction being 
"Communist !" and of the other " Thief ! " It 
has produced enough fallacious argument and 
vicious rhetoric to damn a whole literature. If 
an unprejudiced scholar should investigate this 
contest and see one party asserting that rail- 
roads are like any other property, that there is 
no such thing as a natural monopoly, that state 
regulation is a socialistic absurdity abandoned 
by all enlightened governments, and that com- 
petition is the philosopher's stone that will cure 
all ills; while the other party clamors for the 
arbitrary establishment of fares and freights by 
a public commission, by the Legislature, and 
even by constitutional amendment— that scholar 
would say that such a thing as the scientific 
study of economic questions did not exist in 
California. 

He would be mistaken. Not a few writers on 
this coast have clear ideas as to the theory of 
the subject ; but those ideas are overborne on 
the one side by the public necessities, on the 
other by perhaps ecpjally convincing reasons. 
It is not that we are all totally ignorant of his- 
tory and political economy, but that our rail- 
roads have made the cool application of eco- 
nomic science for the present impossible. The 
problem now is to get their hands off our 
throats; when that is thoroughly solved it will 
be time enough to listen to the calm voice of 
reason. These upstart tyrants, swelling with 
the pride of unaccustomed power, must be 
brought to their knees and so thoroughly hum- 
bled that hereafter they will never dream ot de- 
nying their masters. When they are once 
whipped into their senses, we may be able to 
send the demagogues to the rear and bring 
statesmen to the front. The enemies of monop- 
oly in California know — none better — that rail- 
roads cannot be permanently managed by two 
hostile authorities; that the companies and the 
government must sometime be brought into 
harmony; that rigid tariffs by commission are 
crude, and tariffs by constitutional amendment 
barbarous. That they are driven to propose 
such things, is not their fault ; the railroads have 
to thank their own insane perversity, that has 
treated the people like children and wasted on 
the most mild and reasonable propositions the 
ammunition that should have been reserved for 
the last ditch. If we are communists for advo- 
cating a judicious state supervision, we can be 
no more than communists if we favor forfeiture 
of charters and confiscation of property. The 
monopoly organs have industriously drawn the 
teeth of the communistic ogre, until they can no 
longer frighten a baby with him. 

Some years ago a few slight and easily granted 
concessions would have satisfied the people. 
A monarch like Elizabeth would have known 
how to gracefully yield enough to save the sub- 
stance of power. Monarchs like Charles I. and 
Crocker know how to hold on enough to lose 
their brainless heads. A little tact might have 
made even extortion less offensive ; but the in- 
fatuated magnates set their fat wits to work to 
turn dissatisfaction into dislike, and dislike into 
hatred. Injury is easier to bear than insult, 
and a show of consideration will make many 
things endurable that cannot be borne when 
they arc reinforced by kicks. In the last presi- 
dential campaign, when the voice of the re- 
former was not loud in the land, I have seen a 
New York Custom House clerk seek Mr. 
Arthur's headquarters to pay the forty-dollar 
assessment on his slender salary. He went in 
with what, under the circumstances, was a fair 
degree of cheerfulness, vailing his sacrifice with 
the good of the party. He came out grinding 
his teeth with rage, because he had been received 
as a serf bringing tribute. So the people in the 
San Joaquin Valley might have continued to pay 
two cents per ton per mile for their wheat, and 
five cents per ton |>er mile for their wool, and 
seven cents per mile for themselves, with only 
subdued ami spasmodic grumbling, if they had 
been mildly entreated, and robbed in a gentle- 
manly manner. Bat the triune pirates of the 
rail were so anxious to form limited liability 
companies with all the producers of the state 
(the losses being limited to the producers and 
the gains to themselves) that they could not lie 
hampered by the ordinary rules of buccaneering 
courtesy, and forgot the possibility of a day of 
reckoning. Tney did not even abide by their 
own preposterous tariffs when they saw a chance 
to wring out something more. By their glaring 
insolence and their heartless contempt for all 
rights but their own, they have at last accom- 
plished their perfect work. The storm is raised, 
and we who have no liking for popular tumults un- 



inspired by reason, may as well retire to our dug- 
outs until it blows over. When the sky clears, 
we shall see scattered about in picturesque con- 
fusion the disjointed wrecks of several fortunes, 
a number of reputations, and the private prop- 
erty theory of railroad management. Then 
perhaps we may proceed to the work of recon- 
struction in the calm spirit of pure science. 
Possibly we may have a commission on the 
Massachusetts plan, which, with no powers for 
coercion, accomplishes more by its influence 
than all branches of the government in Califor- 
nia have thus far been able to do. Possibly, too, 
the railroads may watch the signs of the times 
with a vigilant eye, and correct abuses before 
dissatisfaction gathers head. If they do not, 
another convulsion may make them. 



HE TOOK. THE HINT, 



Bill Higgins, the well-known politician, has a 
happy way ol getting rid of a bore. Some time 
ago an irrepressible member of the denomina- 
tion called on the Boss to solicit his influence on 
behalf of a female relative. The Boss was if 
anything more cordial than usual. 

" I'd be only too glad to do anything for you, 
Mr. Blank," said he, "but where is there an 
opening for your aunt? " 

"Couldn't you do something in the County 
Clerk's office?" 

"Well, you see your two brothers are there." 

"Or the Sheriff's office?" 

" Well, your uncle and cousin are there." 

"Or the Recorder's?" 

"You've got your mother-in-law and your son 
there." 

"Or the School Department?" 

" Your four sisters have kind of injured her 
chances there, I think." 

"Ain't there any other place where you can 
put her?" 

"Well — yes — just one." 

"A good sit? 

" A hundred a month." 

" What is it?" 

" The police." 

He vanished. • 



Rowell's Fike ok Life, $i.oo. For sale by all drug- 
gists. 



TAS. A. LOUTTIT, 

•» ATTORNEY AT LAW, 

Salz Building, Main street, StocKton, Cal. 



piRE AND LIFE INSURANCE 

AGENCY. 

Manhattan Life Insurance Co. ok N. Y. 
Commekciai. Fire Insurance Co. of N. Y. 

JOHN LANDERS, - - - GENERAL AGENT, 

410 California street, San Francisco. 



PIANOS. 
STECKf PATENT ARIAN, SCH WECHTEN. 
BENJ. CURTAZ, Agent. 
Wark Rooms, 20 O'Farrkll Street. 
Pianos to rent, and sold on easy monthly installment!:. 



Wm. M. Stewart. 



Wm. F. Hkkrin. 



gTEWART & HERRIN, 

ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW, 



310 Pine Street. 



Rooms 23 to 26. 



W. S. Wood. R. H. Lloyd. 

LOYD & WOOD, 

ROOMS 9 TO 13, NEVADA BLOCK, 
Northwest corner Montgomery and Pine streets. 



L 



AW OFFICES OF 

FRANK J. SULLIVAN, 
Rooms 130 and 132 Phelan Building, 

Junction Market and O'Farrell sts. 



^RTHUR RODGERS, 

ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW, 
240 Montgomery St., corner of Pine. 



H. TAYLOR, 

ATTORNEY AT LAW, 
420 Montgomery t , San Francisco. 

Rooms 2 and 3. 



1) 



R. E. H. PARDEE, 



OCCULIST AND AURIST. 

Office, 526 Montgomery- street, cor. Clay, San Francisco. 
Large supply of Artificial Eves. 



W. RAVELEY, 

BOOK AND JOB PRINTER, 
518 Ci.av Street, 
(Between Montgomery and Sansonie streets) 
SAN FRANCISCO. 



H 



UTCHINSON & MANN 



INSURANCE AGENCY, 
322 and 324 California street, 302 and 304 Sansome street, 
San Francisco. 
(Northeast corner of California and Sansome sts.) 



TeCOUNT brothers, 

STATIONERS, PRINTERS, and 

BLANK-BOOK MANUFACTURERS, 

533 Market street, S-n Francisco. 



RICHARDS cS: HARRISON, 

COR. SANSOME AND SACRAMENTO STS. 

IMPORTERS OF 

FOREIGN FINE WINES. LIQUORS AND ENG- 
LISH GROCERIES. 

Agents for 

CROSSE & BLACK WELL, London: 
Assorted Piikles, English Plum Puddings, 

Oriental Pickles, Gloucester Cheese, 

Assorted Sauces, Potted Meats and Fish, 

Malt and Crystal Vinegar, York Hams and Bacon, 
Spanish Queen Olives, Indian Chutnies, 

Lucca Salad Oils, Metz Crystalized Fruits, 

Assorted Jams and Jellies, Table Delicacies. 
J. & J. COLMAN, London, 
(English Double Superfine Mustard.) 
Fry's and Epp's Cocoas and Chocolate ; 

Liebig Company's Extract of Meat; 

Day & Martin's London Blacking, 

Philippe & Canaud's French Sardines. 

ALSO, 

Cup and Saucer Brand of Japanese UncoloreuTba 
Each pnund-paper containing a handsome 
painted Cup and Saucer. 



p.XLACE HOTEL. 

A. D. SHARON, LESSEE. 



The Palace Hotel occupies an entire block in the cen- 
ter of San Francisco. It is the model house of the world. 
It is Fire and Earthquake-proof. It has five elevators. 
Every room is large, light and airy. The ventilation is 
perfect. A bath and closet adjoin every- room. All 
rooms are easy of access from broad, light corridors. 
The central court, illuminated by the electric light, its 
immense glass roof, its broad balconies, its carriage-way, 
and its tropical plants, is a feature hitherto unknown in 
American hotels. Guests entertained on either the 
American or the European plan. The restaurant is it.e 
finest in the city. 



'pHE NEVADA BANK 

OF SAN FRANCISCO. 

PAID-WP CAPITA! $3,000,000 IN GOLD 

DIRECTORS: 
James C. Flood, President; 

Geo. L. Brandf.r, V ice-President ; 
James G. Fair, James L. Flood, John W. Mackay. 

J. S. Angus, Secretary and Cashier; 

Geo. Grant, Assistant Cashier; 

New York Agency, 62 W:dl Street. 

London Correspondents, Union Bank of London I.m'il 



p J. KENNEDY, GROCER, 

Keeps constantly on hand a select stock of 
FANCY AND STAPLE GROCERIES, 
Native and Imported 

WINES AND LIQUORS, 
Scotch, Boi-rdon and Irish Whisky, 
English Alh, Guinness' Porter, Etc. 
In quality and prices he invites comparison. Weight, 
quantity and quality warranted. Strict attention paid to 
country orders. Shipping and delivering free. 

CORNER MARKET AND TAYLOR STREETS, 
San Francisco. 



pREE ART GALLERY. 

MORRIS & KENNEDY, 

DEALERS IN 

FINE ARTS, ARTISTS' MATERIALS, GOLD 
FRAMES, ETC., 
19 and 2t Post St., Opp. Masonic Temple. 



J. 



H. McMENOMY, 

RETAIL BUTCHER. 
The Only Dealer in Grain-Fed Beef in 
San Francisco. 
Stalls 8 & 9 California Market. 



y^MERICAN WATCHES, 

Largest Assortment on the Pacific Coast. 
W. MANNING, 
804 Market Street, Phelan Building. 



QANAVAN, GARHART & NICHOLS 

NEVADA STABILES, 
1336 & 1338 Market Street, Near City Hall 

The best accommodation afforded for the keeping of 
Boarding Horses. Also a choice line of Livery Stock, 
with Horses and Vehicles of every description. 

Telephone No. 3159. 



JT IS A WELL-KNOWN FACT 

THAT 

M. B. MORAGHAN 
Has the finest OYSTERS, CLAMS and ALL KINDS 
OF SHELL-FISH to be procured anywhere in the city. 
Families, hotels, and public and private parties supplied. 

STALLS— 68 AND 69 CALIFORNIA MARKET. 
Open all night. 



pURNITURE AND CARPETS 

Sold on the Installment Plan. 
Easy Terms. 
GILBERT & MOORE, 
18 & 20 Sutter Street, San Francisco 



£ELERY, BEEF AND IRON, 

THE GREAT TONIC AND NERVINE. 

Sold by Druggists everywhere on the coast 
Laboratory, 537 Clay street, 



pOOS BROTHERS, 

THE LEADING CLOTHIERS, 
MANUFACTURERS AND DIRECT IMPORTERS 

3'> 33> 35 & 37 Kearny Street, 
San Francisco. 
Branch House, 22 South C Street, V irgini a City. 



pOSENER BROS.' 

STAR 
STAR 
STAR 



MALT HOUSE, 
M A L T H O U S E , 
MALI' HOUSE, 



Corner Eleventh and Foi_som Streets. 



BEST QUALITY BAY MALT FOR SALE. 



J 



OHN ROURKE, 



MERCHANT TAILOR, 



PALACE HOTEL, 629 MARKET STREET, 



San Francisco. 



pURE APPLE CIDER. 

BOILED CIDER, for cooking purposes. 

SWEET CIDER, direct from the press. 
HARD CIDER, 5 years old, in qts., 
kegs and bbls. 

PURE CIDER VINEGAR 

This Cider and Vinegar is made from the pure juice of 
Apples. Merchants who purcha.se our Vinegar can save 
in freight, as it can be reduced before selling, owing to its 
extraordinary strength. It is the purest and best— always 
of high test. 

FRANCIS DeLONG, 
Orchard: Novato Ranch, Marin County, 
Office : 206 & 208 Battery Street, San Francisco. 



15 



M. E. Joyce. J>« Okndorfp. 

ALDWIN HOTEL BAR, 

BILLIARD ROOMS, 
DISPENSATORY OF SPIRITUAL COMFORT. 

CLUB ROOMS. 
Entrance from Powell and Market Streets. 

Also, Private Rooms. 



pRICE'S CARVERS. 

Tourists, remember to take home a set of 
PRICE'S FAMOUS CALIFORNIA CARVERS, 
• (His own make and design) 
or a fair of his 
GUARD RAZORS, WARRANTED NOT TO CUT 
THE FLESH WHILE SHAVING. 

ALSO, 

HOME-MADE SCISSORS and POCKET-KNIVES. 
STORE 415 KEARNY STREET. 



QRY ALOUD! SPARE NOT! 

Our Appliances 
CURE CONSUMPTION, RHEUMATISM, 
NEURALGIA, DYSPEPSIA, 

KIDNEY DISEASE, ETC. 

LIVING MEN AND WOMEN 
TESTIFY TO THE TRUTH OF THE ABOVE 
STATEMENT. 

IN-SOLES <$i> CURE COLD FEET, and 

RHEUMATISM IN FEET AND ANKLES. 
Come and investigate. 

CHICAGO MAGNETIC SHIELD CO., 
106 Post street, San Francuco. 




THE SAN FRANCISCAN 



M A RGB 8, 1884 



VOL. I 




PRICK TEN CKNTS 



CONTENTS. 

ORIGINAL ARTICLES : 

Under the Knout [Illustrated by the Author.] Thomas E. Flynn i 

A Day with Bill Nye Sam Davis 5 

Fidessa the Widow 2 

"Good Luck's" Bad Luck Luly A. Littleton 4 

Recipes for Modern V ehse-Cookini; William Lovell Eyre 3 

"Jersey" Edward P. Fish 6 

The Poet ok the I X I Arthur McEwen 7 

Hog ys. Hoggishness C. J. Crevot 7 

Reamng the Whirlwind John Manning 14 

The Schools of San Francisco Belle M. Frost 15 

At the Ciub Dan O'Connell 12 

In the Sultan's Garden Clinton Scollard 6 

Love Me i-or That Sake, Joseph T. Goodman 7 

Two Pictures Bessie Lawrence 2 

Consolation J. E. Hennessy 3 

My Reverie 4 

The Music of the Future Finlay Finlayson 13 

The Twaddler " Persiflage" 12 

The Stage "Volage" 13 

Editorials: — The Extra Session ; Marshall on Settlements; The Men 

Behind the Mask; A Shock to Noli Hill; Good News for Nevada; 

Some Good Work 8 

selected articles: 

Miss Bartram's Trouble Bayard Taylor 10 

General Sheridan's Horse .'..Bill Nye 3 

The Railroad Puzzle Dunn Piatt 12 

Read and Tennyson 12 



undi:r the knout. 



A. Lay of the San Francisco Merchant. 



Through the width of our town 

And the length of it, down 
From Nob Hill to the regions of woe, 

There was no one whose name 

Was more honored by fame 
Than the great house- of Truegrit & Co. 




Of the wealth of the state 

Mr. Truegrit would prate 
To his friends, as he stood at his door, 

And the statement obtrude 

(Oft in language quite rude) 
That no other man's collar he wore. 

When one day so engaged, 

He was wildly enraged 
As he heard from his telephone pass, 

In accents so loud 

The words reached a large crowd, 
"Come down here at once, you old ass!" 

The clerks all looked dazed 

And the others amazed 
At the cause of their master's deep ire. 

"This is fearful," they said, 

And their knees smote with dread 
As old Truegrit advanced to the wire. 

" What too rash puppy calls?" 

The enraged trader bawls, 
Then he starts back and both his eyes rubs; 

"Am I sane or awake? 

What amends can I make! 
Oh, great heavens, I'm talking to Stubbs!" 



Then he sped down the street, 
And an omnibus fleet 

He boarded, unmindful of cost. 
To the driver he cried, 
As a nickel he shied, 
' Urge on your wild steeds or I'm lost ! " 

At the street that runs north- 
Known as Townsend — and Fourth 

Mr. Truegrit his driver dismissed, 
And a few moments later 
The fierce collar-hater 

The freight agent's slippers had kissed. 

As he rose to his feet, 
With a smile passing sweet, 
He inquired, " Can I serve you these times? ' 
To which Mr. Stubbs said, 
With a jerk of his head, 
' Shut your jaw till I read off your crimes! 




" On the first ultimo 

You conversed with a fix; 
Who openly prays for e*ur slaughter, 

And you ottered to treat 

A bold villain whose wheat 
Is brought here from Stockton by water. 

"A few days after that 

Your cook sold some pork-fat 
To a rascal — the greatest one- born — 

Who sends junk — gunny bags, 

Bones, bottles and rags. 
And such bric-a-brac— round by the Horn. 

" A few days later still 

You partookto your till 
Of soft -shell clams dug at San Bruno, 

And which came not by rail, 

So they must have by sail; 
This is logical, sir — that you do know. 




" And this is not all; 

I'd still further recall 
To you I mind several heinous abuses. 

Hush! don't try to explain ; 

You'll but give me more pain 
l!y the lliinsiness of your excuses." 

Thi n the agent severe 

Seized the merchant's right car 
And shook it till frenzied shrieks thrilled 

The reporters unseen, 

Who behind the tall screen 
Their sinister duties fulfilled. 

Vain were the ap|>caling, 

'I he kicking and squealing, 
And vain each stentorian roar; 

With discouraging zest, 

Stubbs discarded his vest, 
And his stout victim tossed on the floor. 



Then his birch, long and thick, 
He, uplifting, cried, "<,)uick! 

Take your coat oft ; unbutton your 
To be truthful, yet brief, 
And not gloat over grief, 

The rest is too awful to tell. 



Well, 




W /0 °Avffo 



"When I charged you with crimes 

That should send you betimes 
To San Quentin for many a year, 

My rage was so hot 

That I recognized not 
The straw berry mark on your ear." 

What the end might have been 

Of so fright ful a scene 
Neither pen nor jx-ncd can guess, 

II the agent severe 

Had not paused and cried " Here — 
I'm mistaken, I see; Rise and dress! 




" liy this symbol unique, 

I now see that I speak, 
Not to Lunkhead, of Craven & Crow, 

But quite freely instead 

Am addressing the head 
Of the great house of Truegrit & Co. 

"To our trustworthy friends 

We make ready amends. 
You've been longing for years to explore 

The interior great 

Of our marvelous stale: 
Here's permission logo— there's the door. 

"Mr. Brown, show the gentleman put." 




2 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



TWO PICTURES. 



BY BESSIE LAWRENCE. 



WITHOUT. 

Leaning over the garden gate 
Where old-time cinnamon roses grew, 
Where gorgeous tulips nodded late 
And lilies bent to the cooling dew; 

Glimpses of bronze in the golden hair, 
Glimpses of blue in the violet eyes, 
Shadows lurking here and there 
Under the lids where amethyst lies; 

Sweet and tender and fair and young, 
With a life as pure as a shy wild Bower, 
And free from care as an untaught bird 
That careless sings through each golden hour. 

Bronzed and bearded, with lines of care 
In the dark face bending down so low; 
Threads of gray in the once brown curls 
That droop where the cinnamon roses grow. 

But the old, old story speaks in the eyes, 
And the dark face beams with a marvelous light ; 
O youth and beauty, your matchless power 
Can make a day of the darkest night ! 



WITHIN. 

A woman's face, still sweet and fair. 

Strong with the knowledge that years will bring; 

Brown eyes, soft with a passion rare 

That comes but in love's full blossoming; 

Brown eyes clouded with unshed tears, 
White lips quivering in hopeless woe, 
Ouick, dry sobs that shake like a storm, 
Swaying the slight frame to and fro. 

He was mine by the force of love — 
Mine by a power that's mighty yet ; 
O cruel years, in your passing, bring 
Only the power to forget ! 

A laugh without, a sob within, 
While the roses bloom by the garden gate 
And the tireless years roll on. Ah me, 
God pity those who their coming wait! 



FIDESSA, THE WIDOW. 



" Have you ever worn a collar spiked by time and the 
laundress?" asked Amys, my fidus Achates, as he and I 
were one day strolling leisurely through the park — "a col- 
lar which made you — " 

" As chary of turning the head as a dude of bending 
the knee? I can't say I have ever «w» one, exactly. I 
have had one on occasionally, for a brief space." 

" What is your opinion," continued Amys, with appar- 
ent inconsequence," of a woman who w ill ask — " 

"Questions? Find me one who doesn't, and I'll tell 
you what I think of her." 

" Not alone questions, Amylion. Deeds, man— favors — 
kindnesses — services — small and great." 

" Reasonable and unreasonable, in season and out of 
season, I suppose you mean," put in I, too impatient to 
wait his explanation ; for I had guessed, as usual, what ho 
was aiming at more quickly than he, slow old fellow that 
he is, could express it. " I see the point of your compar- 
ison, and I think it is a deuced pity we can't dispose of 
one annoyance as readily as of the other. If our collar 
irritates the cuticle, we may tear it off and chuck it away. 
If a fellow-man disturbs our equanimity, we can curse 
him and hustle him aside. In either case we enjoy a 
blissful sense of relief, not unmingled with self-approval. 
But let a woman be the destroyer of our nerves or com- 
fort, and, no matter how savage the mood into which she 
com|>els us, any effort we make to put her down, be she 
never so deserving of a snub, leaves us with an uncomfort- 
able suspicion of our own brutality, even more harrassing 
than the original annoyance to which she subjected us. 
A man has no defense against such a woman as the one 
you mean Amys. I know who you were thinking of: 
your friend Fidessa, the widow. There is but one way 
for you to escape the infliction of that woman's ceaseless 
demands. Avoid her. But you seem utterly unable to 
do that, my friend. You have as good as confessed that 
she irritates you. Yet she hasn't a more willing slave, 
apparently, than yourself. Has she been victimizing you 
again, lately?" 

" Ah, no; not exactly that. What she asked me to do 
wasn't so very far out of the way. It wouldn't have mat- 
tered, you know, if that infernal parrot had been less 
vicious, and if those cursed old women hadn't been on 
the spot to report the affair as even more ridiculous than 
it really was." 

" This is interesting, Amys. 77/e latest parrot story! 
Let's have it, old fellow, without delay." 

" Well, you see, I drop|>ed in on Fidessa the other 
afternoon, at a most inopportune moment, as it proved. 
She was moving. Leaving the Marsden House and going 
to housekeeping. She has a parrot. Thinks the world of 
it. Was afraid to trust it—" 

"To the expressman. I see. So she asked you to 
carry it through the streets on your finger from the Mars- 
den House to her new place of abode. How many miles 
did it prove?" 

»• Not on my finger, Amylion," he said, ignoring my 



question. " It had a nice stand to which it was chained. 
After a block or two I found it rather heavy, and it was 
an awkward thing to carry, so I got onto a passing dummy. 
I put it on the step beside me, clutched it tight with the 
left hand—" 
" What, the parrot?" 

"Hang it, no! How stupid you are. The stand — the 
perch — with the parrot upon it. Well, just as the bird 
began to flap its wings and scream like mad, drawing 
after us all the boys in creation, who should come around 
the next corner but old Mother Bunch and Mother 
Carey." 

" The biggest old gossips in town. Did they see you? " 

"Hang them, yes. How could they help it, though? 
That green devil was making noise enough to rouse the 
city. I had to bow to the old witches, and just as I was 
in the act of raising my hat, something seized my left 
upper arm. I thought for an instant it was the con- 
ductor." 

" Introducing a newly invented method of eliciting car 
fares. Ha! ha! Was it the parrot? " 

" It was the parrot. It had buried its beak in my arm, 
and was twisting and turning it in the Mesh. My coat 
was a new one. Torn flesh heals, but torn cloth does 
not. Scars can be respectable; darns are disreputable. 
A patch on my skin I could endure, but one on my coat- 
sleeve, never. I tried to shake the thing off. It wouldn't 
budge. But of a sudden the stand, ujx>n which I had let 
go my hold, toppled over into the street and dragged 
away the parrot by its chain. The boys set up a howl of 
delight, while the old women stood still, taking in every 
detail, and more besides. I jumped off to pick up my 
charge, and found it a crushed and lifeless green mass 
upon the car track. Devil that it was, it seemed to have 
Buttered under the wheels simply to crown my discom- 
fiture. Any decent bird would have flown clear of the 
rails. If I didn't look a fool as I stood there clutching 
my arm and gazing upon the wreck, I shall never do so 
to my dying day." 

" How did you break the blow to Madame?" 

" I didn't venture to. I went down town, got a parrot as 
like the dead devil as one pea to another, and sent it with a 
new perch up to the house. It got there before Fidessa 
arrived, and she would never have discovered the differ- 
ence if old Mother Bunch hadn't called upon her to con- 
dole. Then she sent for me, tragically requested me to 
remove the alien bird, and wept over the memory of her 
lost pet. But I told you, Amylion, she was good-hearted, 
with all her faults. When I described to her the bite — " 

" She wanted to send you a new coat?" 

" She forgave me, consented to keep the bird — " 

" And borrowed twenty dollars upon the strength of 
her pardon. Satisfactory finale." 

" I never told you that, Amylion. How on earth — " 

" I remember your telling me you had lost twenty dol- 
lars about that time, as a reason for not going out of town 
for the Fourth. Giving, friend Amys, is one of the lux- 
uries of life. But just so soon as generosity suffers coer- 
cion, it ceases to be a gratification to give. No man would 
relish an enforced diet of pate de foie gras, yet it's a luxury 
fit for the gods. To be asked for a loan by one who on 
principle never repays it, is perhaps the most trying form 
of compulsory gift. The borrower evades the stigma of 
begging, while the lender wholly misses the credit of giv- 
ing. I think, Amys, I would rather avoid a more inti- 
mate acquaintance with your fair friend." 

" I am sorry to hear you say so, for I promised to call 
upon her next Sunday, and I relied uiwn your accom- 
panying me. Did you know that your little friend Oriana 
is down from Virginia City, and staying with Fidessa?" 

Now, Oriana is a pet of mine, and 1 had not seen her 
for an age. I was anxious, moreover, to keep a brotherly 
eye upon Amys ; so I determined that if he w ould go to 
Fidessa 's the following Sunday, so would I. When the 
day came I found he was not to be turned from his pur- 
pose. Therefore, we called together upon the widow. I 
carried with me into her house my prejudice against her. 
In her presence, it seemed to melt away in defiance of 
my will. She was certainly a wonderfully agreeable 
woman, and she ap|>eared sincerely desirous to put for- 
ward little Oriana, who is shy, modest and retiring. She 
evinced no feminine jealousy of her superior advantages 
of youth and good looks. Such not being always the 
habit of widows, I was pleasantly surprised. 

We were asked to remain to dinner. Fidessa pressed — 
insisted. It was no kindness to ask us, she said, for she 
had forgotten to market yesterday, and she didn't believe 
there was anything fit to eat in the house. Then she 
went out of the room to ransack the jnntries, she told us, 
and Oriana was left to entertain us. The latter was un- 
usually quiet and silent. There was an embarrassment 
in her manner I could not fathom. Was she distressed 
at our remaining to what she knew would be a shabby 
dinner? If so she placed insufficient faith in the powers 
of our hostess. A more toothsome, inviting little dinner 
I never sat down to. The dishes were few, but every one 
was dainty enough to set before royalty. And the whole 
was exquisitely served. I formed a better opinion of 
Fidessa, as I sat at her table enjoying the delicacies she 
evidently took genuine pleasure in pressing upon us, than 
I had thought it possible I could entertain toward one 
of whose inveterate and inconsiderate habit of asking 
favors of friends I had heard much and experienced a 



little. Two items that told strongly in her favor with me 
were her kind manner to Oriana and her evident ability 

as a housekeeper and hostess. 

Amys fairly beamed under the influence of the titbits 
she slipped onto his plate and the smiles she lavished upon 
him. The sherry was incomparable, and I confess her 
solicitude in keeping my glass in a brimming state had a 
most mellowing effect upon my humor. I could not 
understand how little Oriana, usually so bright and gay, 
could resist the effects of this genial atmosphere. She 
had grown quieter and more silent since we sat down to 
dinner, and all my efforts failed to draw her out. 

We dined early, and the better part of the evening was 
still before us when we left Fidessa 's house. Amys sug- 
gested some calls in the neighborhood. I acquiesced. 
Our first visit was to the Browns. They were at tea, and 
insisted upon our each taking a cup. The six-year-old 
daughter of the house, who has a childish fondness 
for me, came and cuddled dow n in a corner of the sofa 
beside me. We were somewhat apart from the others. 

" There is no cake for tea to-night," she said, condol- 
ingly. " We always have lots of cake, and Bridget made 
some that was awful good yesterday; but that lady who 
lives in the little house across the street begged it all away 
from us to-day. She had company that came unexpected, 
and the mice had spoiled all her cake. And we gave her 
some soup, too. She's a nice lady, and I like her; but I 
wish her soup didn't all get burned up sometimes; 
'cause I like soup, and to-day there was not enough for 
dinner to give me any, 'cause her soup got all burned up 
again to-day and mamma lent her some of ours." 

I was deeply interested. 

" Does this lady's soup often get burned?" I asked. 

"Oh, yes; 'most every Sunday. And papa was awful 
mad to-day, 'cause it was gumbo soup we had, and he 
likes gumbo soup, and he didn't have but a little wee bit. 
And he was awful cross with mamma 'cause he had a 
crushed napkin, 'cause mamma lent all the clean ones to 
the lady. And, you know, she hasn't brought back the 
silver butter-knife mamma lent her ever so long ago. 
And papa says it won't do; mamma must stop lending 
her things, 'cause she's an infernal plague. What's a 
plague? " 

I was spared the desired definition by my little friend's 
mamma, who at this moment descended u|K)n her and 
carried her off to bed. No one had overheard her cor ..- 
dences. Amys sat and sip|x;d his tea in blissful igno- 
rance of the evidence I had been gleaning from the child's 
prattle of his friend's ])eculiar and unique method qf get- 
ting together an impromptu entertainment for unexpected 
guests. Yesterday I should have harshly condemned her 
conduct. To-day, still under the influence of the new 
impression she had made upon me, I felt annoyed that 
so clever and agreeable a woman should be capable of 
such devices. 

I said nothing to Amys when we got outside of the reve- 
lation made to me. 

We called next upon the Robinsons. Fate urged Amys 
to his undoing. He mentioned where we had dined, and 
went into raptures over Fidessa 's culinary skill, dwelling 
particularly upon her ability as a maker of calfs-foot 
jelly. 

A peculiar smile made itself visible on the collective 
family countenance. 

"Now, I think it's too bad," cried the oldest girl, 
" that my sister and I should lose not only our jelly, 
but the credit of having made it. We devoted the whole 
of yesterday to its manufacture, and the chief result of 
all our trouble was to give that angelic sister of mine an 
opportunity to supply an accidental deficiency in a cer- 
tain lady's dessert. That cat of hers must be a victim of 
dysticpsia if it really gets away with all it is said to. I felt 
tempted to ask if it ever had the D. T's when she came 
round to-day to ask for a ' drop ' of sherry in a gallon 
demijohn. I would have given her what was left from 
clearing the jelly, but papa turned up and insisted upon 
letting her have the best. With such encouragement she 
will ask next for chamjiagne." 

Amys's face was a study. I fairly roared. If it had 
not been too late to pay any more visits I am sure 
we should have traced out in our further progress 
through that vicinity the origin of the entire menu to 
w hich we had done honor at Fidessa 's table. 

About a week later I encountered Oriana one morning 
early, upon Kearny street. I did not recognize her till 
she spoke to me, for she was thickly vailed. 

" Ah, I am so glad to have met you," she said excitedly. 
" I am in such a dilemma, and I could not bear to speak 
of it to any one. I — I want so much to know — perhaps 
you could tell me, and I don't mind so much speaking of 
it to you — what Uncle Harris would be likely to give me 
for this?" She opened her hand wide enough to show 
me a glimpse of a tiny, blue-enameled watch. " 1 was 
afraid they might insult me if I asked for more than I 
should." 

" What do you want money for? " It was a rude, blunt 
question, and I put it harshly ; but old bachelor friends 
are privileged to be rude and blunt, and I was annoyed 
to think that Fidessa's influence might be telling upon 
her. 

She hung her head. 

" I want to go home, and I have nothing to take me." 
*' Didn't your father— " , 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



3 



"Ah, yes; but you see — I spent all he gave me, and I 
don't want to trouble him for more. Perhaps he couldn't 
spare it very well. I'd much rather get it this way," 
holding up the watch. 

" What have you spent your money u]x>n? " 

She was silent. A new inspiration struck me. 

" You didn't spend it at all. You lent it. It was bor- 
rowed from you by — " 

"Ah, hush!" she cried, "I didn't want you to know 
that. Please don't tell it to any one. She really is so 
good-hearted, and she has been so kind to me. She has 
given me so many presents. Still — " 

"Still, you would rather be out of her house and 
at home again. You are right. It is no place for you, let 
her be as kind and generous as she may." 

The next day I saw the child off home, without, how- 
ever, calling in the aid of Uncle Harris. 

When Oriana was gone I set about maturing a scheme 
I had formed. It was Quixotic, perhaps, but I thought 
the possible cure of a fault like Fidessa's in one whom 
despite her idiosyncrasy few could help liking, was worth 
the trouble of trying to effect. I called upon a carefully 
chosen number of her most intimate friends whom I could 
trust, I hoped, not to betray me. They entered con 
amore into my plan. Simultaneously they all began to 
borrow from her. And she lent to them as unhesi- 
tatingly as she had borrowed from them, showing no 
reluctance to grant all their requests, though they ran the 
gamut from a lace scarf to a bucket of coal, taking in 
even the gas-globes and door-keys. Those in the secret 
derived no little amusement in comparing notes and con- 
sulting as to what out-of-the-way article they should ask 
for next. The thing grew more and more exciting as the 
days went by. Each conspirator's house contained a vast 
and miscellaneous collection of Fidessa's worldly goods. 
By the end of a fortnight the discomfort of a rifled home 
would have been unendurable to one less amiable, but 
with undimished good humor she continued to lend. At 
last a period came when those in the plot began to doubt 
its success. There was no punishment in it to one who 
felt not its inconvenience and knew no reluctance in 
parting with her belongings. The intended lesson would 
prove no lesson at all if she never took in its meaning. 
Fidessa continued amiably and exasperatingly obtuse. 
There was nothing for it in the end but to confide the 
f ecrU!'*o old Mother Carey, under a solemn vow of silence. 
Berore-ithe week was out Fidessa's eyes had been opened. 
First, stle called upon her female friends and wept. Then 
she beg:.n to toss her head when she met them in the 
street and look the other way. Finally, the ludicrous 
side of the affair seemed to strike her, good nature pre- 
vailed, and she laughed about it with those who persisted 
in speaking to her. She confessed herself justly served 
and professed to be wholly cured. Never again, so long 
as she lived, would she ask anything of anybody. This 
resolve was openly expressed, and to no one did it prove 
more gratifying than to Amys. But alas! poor fellow, his 
satisfaction with the result of our scheme was short-lived. 
One day he came to me with the most rueful expression 
on his good-natured face that I had ever seen there. 

"We have banished Fidessa," he said. " I knew she 
was no longer happy among us, though she tried so 
amiably to hide her chagrin. She has broken up house- 
keeping and gone away." 

" So I have been told," I answered quietly. " She has 
gone East — on a pass." 



AMERICANS WHO APE ENGLISHMEN. 



There is to be seen just now in America, in what is 
known as society, a strong tendency to imitate English 
ways and customs and fashions. This tendency is gain- 
ing strength, and spreading from New York and Boston 
to smaller inland cities. It is a new thing in many ways, 
for until lately New York has taken its cue rather from 
Paris than from London. During the second Empire 
many good Americans made pilgrimages to the Tuilleries 
as a Mecca, and some settled permanently near the 
shrine. But Paris is no longer more fashionable than 
London. The American girl continues to get her gowns 
in the French capital, of course, but she is glad to get 
her habit and her ulster and her cloaks in the English 
capital. As there is now no Court in France, she looks 
forward to a presentation at Court in England, and the 
possibility of marrying a title is perhaps present to her 
mind as she crosses the ocean. That she is quite capable 
of taking care of herself in the presence of English no- 
blemen and their female relatives all readers of M r. James's 
" International Episode " and of Mr. Howell's " Woman's 
Reason " will bear witness. In fact, the American girl is 
in no danger of losing her head before parting with her 
hand. It is her consort, the American young man, who 
is most likely to be contaminated by contact with the 
Englishman. There is no denying that a certain set of 
young Americans, more particularly in New York and 
Boston, affect the Englishman and ape all his affecta- 
tions. They mimic every English trick in the most snob- 
bish way. They attempt an English accent, and they 
sprinkle Hritticisms freely through their speech. They 
talk of their "fads," and they call people " cads," and 
they abound in the most amusing little affectations. 
Their greatest happiness is to be taken for an English- 
man—a joy not often vouchsafed to them. It was to one 
of these pitiful imitations, a young Bostonian,thata clever 
New York girl said: " Mr. Blank, 1 should think you 
would be so glad to meet Lord So-and-so ; you know he 
is a real Englishman."— London Saturday Review. 



CONSOLATION. 



BY J. E. HEXNKSSY. 

I. ike one bewildered in the dismal night, 
Fearful I trod the labyrinthine way, 
And looked in vain for glimmerings of the day. 
The somber fall of Doubt shut from my sight 
The radiant dawn, the glory of the light 
Serene, that followed close on morning's gray; 
And deaf, I did not hear the lark's blithe lay 
Nor see the beauty of the swallow's flight. 
Hut with o'erpowering force the truth swept o'er 
My soul, and all the shadow dark dispersed; 
With blinking eyes I rather felt than saw 
The midday sun his full effulgence pour 
Upon the earth; and on mine ear there burst 
Sweet carol of the lark, the promise of the law. 



RECIPES FOR MODERN VERSE-COOKING. 



P.Y WILLIAM I.OVT'.L F.YK E. 



We live in an age of scientific and practical wonders. 
The mystery of yesterday is the commonplace of to-day. 
Our students arc familiar with opinions which, had they 
been expressed twenty years ago, would have sent their pro- 
mulgators to a lunatic asylum. So close upon the heels 
of the infinite are we now treading, and so near arc we to 
a satisfactory solution of all the mental and spiritual prob- 
lems which perplexed our predecessors, that it will only 
need the presence of a perfect charity to make the ap- 
proaching twentieth century a millennium. 

We live — as the stump orator has so often told us — in 
an age of progression ; and why should not our verse 
keep pace with the age? It does. At first, inspiration 
was supposed to be a necessary factor ; then science ; and 
now it is a mere trick. As, when Bishop Colenso had 
the courage to doubt a general deluge, each puny mind 
had its fling at Noah and his ark, so there is scarcely a 
high-school girl but can raise some sickly sort of flower 
from the seed stolen from Tennyson's garden. A harsh 
critic has said that verse is now only used as a means of 
expressing what is too foolish, profane or indecorous to 
be expressed in any other form. This is a cruel and 
somewhat unjust way of looking at the art of poesy, as 
now practiced. Still it must be acknowledged that, 
whereas the old masters of song deftly interwove in their 
creations animals, vegetables and spirits, the modern 
versifier seldom draws upon more than one of these at a 
time; so that the unfortunate reader is either deluged 
with fleshly lucubrations, pen pictures of inanimate na- 
ture, or spiritual and metaphysical gropings. For the 
benefit of the aspiring poet and poetess the following 
recipes for verse-cooking are noted : 

To Make Rustic Vegetable "Soup. — Take ten large 
handfuls of daisies, boi' them to a proper consistency, 
and then drop in a village maiden. (She must be young 
and fresh.) A few frozen robins and a dead lamb or two, 
simmered down with the daisies and girl, add to the 
piquancy of the dish, while they do not quite destroy 
that vegetable flavor so essential in rustic verse. 

To Make a Nice Love Roast. — Take two large and 
tender human hearts which are an exact match ; arrange 
them close together, but preserve them from actual con- 
tact by placing between them a slice of a cruel-father's- 
gizzard or a small sprig of the herb known as family- 
pride ; pierce them both in several places and insert a 
stuffing of wild yearnings, hopeless tenderness and a few 
moonbeams; then completely cover one heart with moist 
graveyard mold, which may be garnished to taste w'ith 
rank weeds or tender violets, and break over it the other 
heart. This dish is best served cold, as undue heat has 
a bad effect upon the moral digestion. 

To Make a Tasty Marine Puddino. — Take one 
midnight storm and one fisherman's family, which, if the 
poem is to be well-flavored, should be as large and 
hungry as possible, and must contain at least one inno- 
cent baby; place the little cherub in a cradle, with the 
mother singing over it— being very careful that at the 
exact moment you put them in the pot the child is 
dreaming of angels and. smiling sweetly; stir the father 
up well in a storm until he disappears. 

To Make a Society Haricot. — Take one nice 
young man (a church member and a Sunday-school 
teacher, if to be found), set him upright in the middle of 
a round-table, and place by his side a beautiful wife w ho 
hates prigs; add to them one ungodly man, and tie 
the three together in a bundle with a link or two of des- 
tiny. Proceed next to surround this group with a large 
number of men and women of the nineteenth century, 
in fancy-ball costumes, flavored with a great many pos- 
sible vices and a lew impossible virtues. Stir these more 
or less briskly about for two volumes, to the great an- 
noyance of the nice young man who is, however, to be 
kept below cussing point the whole time. (If he ever 
boils over into any natural action or exclamation, he is 
useless, and you must catch another.) Next break the 
wife's reputation up into small pieces and dust them well 
over the blameless prig; take a few vials of tribulation 
and pour them over all the ingredients of your j>ocm ; 
then take a sword and cut into small pieces the greater 
part of your minor characters; wound the nice young 



man slightly on the head, and then remove him suddenly 
from the table and put him on ice for future use. Some 
of our local poets have tried the above with great suc- 
cess. 

To Make a Nightmare SCRAMBLE.— Take rather a 
coarse view of things in general ; in the midst of this 
place a man and woman, their ankles tastefully arranged 
on a slice of Italy; cut an opening across the breast of 
each, until the soul becomes visible, but be careful that 
none of the body be lost during the operation ; i>our into 
each breast as much as it will hold of the new strong wine 
of love, and, lest they should get cold, cover them quickly 
over with a quantity of obscure classical quotations, a few 
familiar allusions to an unknown period of history, and a 
half-destroyed fresco by an early master. If when this is 
done the poem be still intelligible, take a pen and care- 
fully remove all the lucid points. 

To Make Dead-Baby Fricassee.— Take a dead infant 
with deep blue eyes, quite fresh, and, if possible, still 
warm; stew in pearly tear-drops from the mother's eyes; 
when cooked, garnish with a small green mound and a 
tiny tablet, and serve in a satin-lined casket. 

The above reci|>cs cannot fail to be of use to those who 
arc desirous of producing poems to suit the tastes of the 
day. Many more arc at hand, but these will do. 



GENERAL SHERIDAN'S HORSE. 



I have always taken a great interest in war incidents, 
and more so, perhaps, because I wasn't old enough to 
put down the rebellion myself. I have been very eager 
to get hold of and hoard up in my memory all its gallant 
deeds of both sides; and to know the history of those who 
figured prominently in that great conflict has been one 
of my ambitions. 

I have always watched with interest the steady advance- 
ment of Phil Sheridan, the black-eyed warrior with the 
florid face and the Winchester record. I have also taken 
some pains to investigate the later history of the old Win- 
chester warhorse. 

"Old Rien/.i died in our stable a few years after the 
war," said a Chicago livery man to me a short time ago. 
"General Sheridan left him with us and instructed us to 
take good care of him, which we did, but he got old at 
last, and his teeth failed upon him, and that busted his 
digestion, and he kind of died of old age, I reckon." 

" How did General Sheridan take it?" 

" Oh, well, Phil Sheridan is no school-girl. He didn't 
turn away when old Rienzi died and weep the manger 
full of scalding regret. If you know Sheridan, you know 
he don't rip the blue dome of heaven wide open with un- 
availing wails. He just told us to take care of its remains, 
patted the old cuss on the head a little, and walked off. 
Phil Sheridan don't go around weeping softly into a pink 
bordered wipe when a horse dies. He likes a good horse, 
but Rienzi was no Jay-Eye-See for swiftness, and he was 
not the purtiest horse you ever see, by no means." 

" Did you read lately how General Sheridan didn't ride 
on horseback since his old warhorse died, and seems to 
have lost all interest in horses?" 

" No, I never did. He no doubt would rather ride in 
a cable car or a carriage than to jar himself up on a horse. 
That's all likely enough; but, as I say, he's a matter-of- 
fact little fighter from Fight-town. He never stopped to 
snort and paw up the ground and sob himself into bron- 
chitis over old Rienzi. He went right on about his busi- 
ness, and, like old King What's-his-Namc, he hollered 
for another hoss, and the War Department never slip|>cd 
a cog." 

Later on I read that the old war-horse was called Win- 
chester, and that he was still alive in a blue-glass pasture 
in Kentucky. The report said that old Winchester wasn't 
very coltish, and that he was evidently failing. I gathered 
the idea that he was wearing store teeth and that his 
memory was a little deficient, but that he might live yet 
for years. After that I met a New York livery stable 
prince, at; whose palace General .Sheridan's well known 
Winchester died of bolts in '71. He told me all about it, 
and how General Sheridan came on from Chicago at the 
tune and held the old horse's head in his lap while the 
fleet limbs that llevv from Winchester down and saved the 
day stiffened in the great mysterious repose of death. He 
said that Sheridan wept like a child, and as he told the 
touching taie to me I wept also. I say I wept. I wept 
about a quart, I should say. He said also that the horse's 
name wasn't Winchester nor Rien/i; it was |im. 

I was sorry to know it. fim is no name for a war- 
horse who won a victory ana a marble bust and a poem. 
You can't respect a horse much if his name vyas Jim. 

Arter that I found out that General Sheridan's cele- 
brated Winchester horse was raised in Kentucky; also in 
Pennsylvania and Michigan: that he went out as a volun- 
teer private; that he was in the regular servic e prior to the 
war, and that he was drafted, and that he died on the field 
of battle, in a sorrel pasture, in '73, in neat pain and 
on Governor's Island; that he was buried with Masonic 
honors by the Good Templars and the Grand Army of the 

Republic; thai he was resurrected by a medical college 
and dissected; that he was cremated in New Orleans 

and taxidermed for the Military Museum at New York. 
Every little while I run up against a new fact relative to 
this noted beast. He has died in nineteen different 
states, and been buried in thirteen different styles, while 
his soul goes marching on. Evidently we live in an age 
of information. You can get more information nowa- 
days, such as it is, than you know what to do with. — Bill 
Nye in Neiv York Mercury. 



The hymn beginning " The Consecrated Cross I'd 
Bear" had just been sung, and in the momentary ciuiet 
that followed, the |)crplcxcd youth turned to his father: 
" Say. pa, where do they keep the consecrated cross-eyed 
bear?"— Exchange. 



-I 



MY REVERIE. 



As I sat in the deepening twilight 

In my room so cosy and warm. 

While the wild winds shrieked without, 

Portending the coming storm, 

The book of Longfellow's poems 

I held within my hand 

Seemed to bid the Queen of Dreamland 

Rise and wave her magic wand; 

For, lo, the walls of my chamber 

Grew wide and green and fair, 

Ant! before me the forest primeval 

Stood, peopled with beings of air. 

The forms of Hasil and Benedict, 

And the priest with the hoary hair, 

And the Notary Public Rene, 

Were standing together there; 

While there, apart from the others, 

In the cool of the evening breeze, 

Sat Evangeline and Gabriel 

In the shade of the hemlock-trees. 

The forest changed in a moment 

To a room with floor of pine, 

Where the pans that stood on the dresser 

Like silver seemed to shine; 

I saw the Puritan maiden, 

I heard the hum of her wheel, 

I saw the look of amazement 

O'er the features of Alden steal 

As he found from her simple question 

And the look in her placid face 

That he, and not the captain, 

In her heart had found a place. 

See, the roar of the blazing back-log 

In the Puritan kitchen trim 

Has changed to the roar of the bellows 

In the village smithy dim! 

I saw the sparks from the embers 

Fly like chaff on the dusty floor, 

I saw the merry schoolboys 

Look in at the open door, 

And the smith with hammer uplifted 

To strike the blazing bar, 

And the chestnut-tree above him 

Toss its branches near and far. 

Again the scene has shifted, 

The smithy fades away, 

I hear the rush of waters 

And the laugh of waves at play; 

The floor to a river changes, 

Where reeds and rushes tall 

Are dipping and bending beneath the spray 

Of a gleaming waterfall; 

A bark of birch and deerskin 

Down the rapids seems to glide, 

And the boatman's robes of otter 

Float behind him on the tide. 

Put Hiawatha, brave and active. 
Homeward journeying day by day, 
And Minnehaha, true anil patient. 
From my vision fade away; 
The birchen bark has passed me, 
It has vanished from my sight, 
And again my room is glowing 
With a strange, unearthly light; 
I hear the sound of music 
And the flutter of downy wings; 
It must be angel voices, 
Tis no earthly voice that sings; 
Those are no earthly footfalls 
That sound upon the floor. 
Hut the lootsteps of the angels 
Through St. Peter's golden door. 

And before me stands the minstrel, 
Surrounded by a train 
Of glad and glorious creatures, 
The creations of his brain; 
And in tones of love they're singing, 
" Wc can make our lives sublime, 
And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of Time." 



" GOOD LUCK'S" HAD LUCK. 

BY LULY A. LITTLETON . 



[The following letters are simply collated from a greater number by the 
same hand. They have been punctuated in order to facilitate the reading ; 
otherwise they are unchanged, as it was thought they would best tell their 
story in their original form. J 

San Francisco, December 24, 1874. 

Miss B. : How often have I thought that how shall I 
repay you for kindness which you have bestowed upon 
me by coming here to teach me to play the melodeon, 
and I am very glad I have learned so much about it. 
Whenever I play on it, I remember you kindly and ap- 
preciate your kindness. Indeed I am very grateful. I 
hope you will accept my thanks for that. Now, my dear 
teach, I send you here two japanese boxes. I think you 
will like them. They are not worth anything; they are 
only for the remembrance of me, whom you have spent 
so much time in instructing. Teach corrects this letter 
for me. I must close now, wishing you merry, merry 
Christmas. Your affectionate pupil, King Ho. 

San Francisco, June 25, 1877. 

Miss B. — Mv Dear Miss : There is no occation to 
writ you, but have wish to improve. If you have time, 
dear Miss, please answer, for which I sent you to-morrow 
box paper. Miss B., I learned that you have a foot, can- 
not walk. If you think down here is anything I can do 
for, just let me know and am will perfectly willing to do 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



for you. Miss B., I am sorry that I told you the other 
day I hate Sing Kum as I hate the divil. No, I do not 
mean so. I mean I do not like her, and you asked me 
why I do not go to see her, and I told you I do not want 
to go. I feel uneasy about those words which I said to 
you the other day. Now, Miss B., the way you talked to 
me, either you or she must said something about me. 
Dear Miss, can you write me a few words concerning that 
matter? It would not take you but a few minutes. Oh! 
do please give me a few words ; you will do a great favor 
to me. I have no other friend nearer than you. If I ask 
my teacher he will tell me to take Sing Kum. If I want 
to marry chines girl I can get plenty, and prettier than 
her, too. Let me tell you truly: I am looking for a car. 
I suppose you know what car is. I do not like to ride on 
a sedan chair. I am not come from a country where use 
sedan chair instead of car. If I cannot find a car I had 
rather walk. Please excuse my bad writting, awful 
sailing and ungrammatical letter. So shall I close my 
letter, wishing you will write to me. Your most sincerely 
friend, King H<>. 

San Francisco, July 25, 1878. 

Miss B.— My Dear Miss: I have received your kind 
letter the 23 of Inst. The letter which I received from 
you is more interesting to me than you got those articles. 
I am sorry that trouble you gone down to the Postoffice 
to get that little thing. I thought the Postman will de- 
livered it to you. But I do not see that little package 
like that is too large to be delivered by the Postman. If 
the Postman cannot carry it I do not think he is a Post- 
man at all. I am very glad that you have never mention 
my name in connection with Sing Kum. That is all I 
wish to know. I think Sing Kum can't be a missionary 
for a niger super. Do you know what a niger super is? 
You know the negros in the South they have worm 
weather down there. Sometimes was so hot that the 
negros do not wish to eat anything. Just eat a piece of 
watermelon, called their supers. Unless Sing Kum go 
and learn some kind of trick or be some kind of en- 
chantress that can change a cat into a rattlesnake or get 
some kind of an infernal mashine so she can change a 
divil into an angel. Then she may be some useful in this 
world. W ell, Miss B- — , I am greatly indebted to you, 
for you have been so kind to me. Whenever I went to 
see you you always gave me some things to eat and 
always treated me so good that I have no words to 
express to thank you. I wish I have a little wife, that she- 
can cook most anything, and a comfortable place so I can 
invite you to come and take dinner with me. But that 
kind of time is too far for me yet. I do not know I have 
that kind of time or not. Moreover, the election is com- 
ing on. Four more half-breeds going to vote. All said 
if I brought some all party tickets will you mark which 
mens to vote for? Please write to me if you have time. 
Your sincerely, King Ho. 

San Francisco, Sep. 2, 1878. 

Dear Miss B. : I wrote a letter to you on last week. 
I did not know you received it or not. I presume you 
did, and think the reason why you did not answer the 
letter, perhaps it is improper for a young lady to answer 
that kind of a letter. If it is so, Miss B., I beg your par- 
don, for I do not know better. I wish you clearly under- 
stooded that I am an American, yet I do not speak my 
own language properly. Sometimes I used words which I 
ought not to have used, and words I ought to have used 
I did not use. I have left undone those things which I 
ought to have done, and done the things which I ought 
to not have done. And I wish you to remember that I 
was brought up in a Heathen family, and educated by an 
ungodly and ignorant mother, who does not know as 
much as a dog knows a holiday. In view of all these, I 
need instruction and discipline. If I said or done any 
thing which I ought not, please correct me. I shall thank 
you very much, so I may do better in the future. Your 
sincerely, King Ho. 

San Francisco, Oct. 19, '78. 

Miss B. — My Dear Friend: Since these last two 
months all my friends thought somethings strange about 
•me, because I did not go to the school so much as I used 
to. Now you asked me. If I tell all about it, it will take 
5 or 6 sheets of paper to write on, and it will do no good, 
also make you feel bad too. I hate to brag myself, and 
to puff for what I have done for them. I have been with 
them so long. I treated them more better than I do to 

my mother, Miss B , and yet strangers treated me 

better than they do to me. The teacher advice me to 
marry Chinese girl. He wants to make a Chinaman out 
of me. My father made his son a half-breed. I do not 
want to make my children half-breed. I want to make 
children full blooded and pure American. If the teacher 
try to make a cue on my head, I will make him 5 cues on 
his' head, four on each connor, one in the middle. So I 
close my poor letter. Your sincerely, King Ho. 

San Francisco, 1878. 

Miss B. — Dear Friend : The boys of the school de- 
sire me to write to you a few lines. They take me by 
the ears if I do not do it, they said. They want me to 
say that they thank you very much for coming down to 
help them, and they said they can find in all the world 
no better help than you. Therefore, they all thank you 
for you have done. I, too, thank you for helping me. 
Now we are going to have a grand blow out on Monday 



night. It is our desire to see you and bring all yourl 
friend to come on that night. We are going to have some j 
fruits, tea, and some kicks. Please come. Your sin-J 
cerely, King Ho. 

San Francisco, 1879. ] 

Dear Friend Miss B: I hardly know what to say tol 
you. When I come home last night I found something] 
in my room which made me feel so uneasy that I do not] 
know what to do. Miss, I don't like the way you did ; if I 
a man cannot do a little thing for his friend without pay,.! 
what is the use to call that she is or he is his friend. Miss, ] 
you've been good to me I must be good to you, and I 
am so glad 1 can help you, but you have said that I ] 
charge the teacher when I work for him. Yes! every] 
time. If I had done anythings for him for nothing I did \ 
it for the school, not for him. He and I are not agree] 
very well. He is nothing but a cold comforter to me. i i 
may be mistaken, but I don't see it. Let me tell you I ! 
am so glad that I was born in your country, because this 
is the only nation that can keep me. 1 love this com- ; 
monwealth. My watchword is, give me Americanism or j 
give me death. Miss, you are a good friend to me. I j 
know it. You wish me to be happy and succeed in life. 
I tell you I can't be better until I leave this state of Cali-j 
fornia. No one knows my trouble. God only knows. 
My life is not sweet, so far. The troubles more I con-! 
quer, more I have. If Cod give me neither heaven nor 
hell, I am ready for him to take me away any moment. 
If I have an opportunity to leave California, then I go 
quick. I have nothing to encourage me to be anything 
in this world. Yet sometime I have very foolish notion j 
and thought; but whenever I think of them I feel so: 
shame that I want to go to the graveyard and dig a hold 
to bury myself. However, when I forget my trouble I 
feel as happy as a king; but most times I felt just as un- 
easy as a fish out of the water. I am fear you cannot 
read my writing and cannot make out what I say. Your 
sincerely, King Ho. 

San Francisco, April 27, 1879. 

My Dear Miss B. : I h te to pen these few lines to 
you, but I do not where I can reach these few lines to 
you, and I know this letter is a botheration to you, but I 
must ask you to forgive me this time. I have left the 
school and don't belong to there any more. Let me tell 
you why my brother struck me for. I have sent some men 
to inquire why he acted so and (1) he says I am a hum- 
bug christian, and ought to be kicked out of the church; 
(2) he says I do not give any money to support my mother, 
but spent my money on some persons in foolishly; (3) he 
says when my mother was sick I did not go home to see 
her, but when my mother came back from China with 3 
or 4 girls I go to see her 3 or 4 times a day. They think 
I am crazy about those girls, even my mother thinks so 
too. Oh I wish I have something that beat them. You 
tole me, dear Miss, I must look after my young sister. It 
will not do, therefore, for me not to go home at all. But 
one of those girls make me feel like to do it. Whenever 
I go home that girl treated me very good and try to 
talked to me and asked me all sorts of questions. I got 
so sick of her I don't know what to do. She paints her 
face every day. Sometimes she painted her face just like 
the map of the Eastern Hemisphere. Oh, please make 
no belief any of those stories about me. I am in a very 
bad condition now. Your sincerely, King Ho. 

San Francisco, February, 18S0. 

Miss B. — My Dear Young Friend: I have much 
trouble with my relations now. I am afraid my brother 
give me another reception. Dear Miss, I am only a half- 
breed. My father is dead and I wish my mother had 
dead too before I borned. I cannot speak to you on the 
street when 1 meet you, because everybody knows my 
mother Chinese woman, and would thought it strange a 
young lady would speak to a half-breed. I do not wish 
any one to speak of your name, so I pass you and do not 
know you. My dear Miss, I know I have lots of foes, all 
these because I am an infiddle, but I could not help it. 
When I converted to Christianity my relatives hate me. 
When I give up Jesus religion, christians hate me. All 
these because I don't believe the same as they do. You 
know how they all said what a nice boy I was when I was 
a christian. I know you are not an infiddle. I become an 
infiddle because not all my friends are infiddles. All my 
friends are christians. I converted to Christianity because 
it is good. Now I converted to infiddlety because it is 
better. But a reasonable religion is what I am after. I 
don't hate all the christians, but I pitty them, and have a 
good reason for doing so. If you think not please just 
turn to the book of Deut. 31 chap, verses 17, 18, and 
Deut. 21 chap, verses 11, 13, 14, and you may believe it 
if you like. I think it is funny instruction given by a lov- 
ing and merciful father to his people. I care not all my 
friends angry with me but you. I will go for the right if 
they all got mad with me, only you. I would rather go 
to christian's hell of fire and brimston than you get angry 
with me. I heert you teach Hong Pan a song. He said 
"one piece nice young lady come and teach me two 
times." Hoping these few lines will rich you in good 
health. Your sincerely, King Ho. 

San Francisco, 1880. 

Miss B. — Dear Friend : I suppose you've read about 
the Brazilian Lilie. Don't pay 4.00 apiece; you will get 
fool. Plenty of it in Chinatown ; 25 cents you'll get a 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



5 



cart full. It is a kind of Chinese potatoe. Dear, good 
friend, I have sent to you a letter, and am have explained 
myself. I am very sorry we have s.uch uneasiness in our 
midst. I hate to lose you in this way. I know I am in 
such a fix, but can you not be friend without belief 
the same thing? I know is no fun, no jok to laugh 
at Christ and God, and will go to internal perdition for it. 
But 1 am in internal perdition now, because I am a half- 
breed, and in the future can be no more. There is noth- 
ing I wish but one thing: That I cannot got it if I 
write to you ; neither you can got it for me. If 1 have said 
or done anythings wrong, please forgive me. Your sin- 
cerely, Kino Ho. 

San Fsancisco, Sept., 1881. 

Miss B. — My Dear Friend: I was so glad to meet 
you the other day. A month ago I thought I never meet 
again, and I thought I lost a friend. Oh, I felt hell all 
over. But 1 found out the other day that we arc same as 

before. Miss B , I was happy when I saw you the 

other day. I hate to loose you, because I feel happier 
when I be with you. When I went into Chy Lung's 
asked me what's matter you look so happy? I didn't 
answer, because my mouth full of cry, and then I went 
home pretty quick, and I think I prayed your Christian 
God once more. Thank him for not loosing a friend. I 
gotted this little present for you and putted it in my trunk 
more than one month for you. At Chy Lung's many 
American ladies buy these shawls now. I like you to 
wear one too. The imbroidery is very fine. If it got 
dirty you can die. Your sincerely, Kino Ho. 

San Francisco, July, 1882. 

Miss B.— Dear Friend : I think you will forgive me 
this letter. I think I would see you once more before I 
depart from the country. Perhaps we may see each 
other again. Perhaps never. I do not know any other 
way to bid you good-by, only by riching this note to you. 
I leave here this Friday for Chicago. It is a quite dis- 
agreeable disposition for me to take. Perhaps it is better 
for me go where I can forget all my life ; see new things. 
I now leave you, hoping that you may enjoy in good 
health and live a happy life. Your sincerely, 

Kino Ho. 

$ '* ♦ . • sj£ ifi 4 s * * 

Died. — In the City and County Hospital, January o, 
1884, Frank Main, a native of California, aged 27 years. 

S\n Francisco, Februarys 1884. 
Miss B. — Dear Madam : A Chinese woman who re- 
sides in the building where I have my little missionary 
school requests me to forward to you the accompanying 
package. She found it, addressed to you, in one of the 
trunks of her late son, Frank Main, who died of quick 
consumption in the City and County Hospital, on the 
oth of January last. The mother is overwhelmed with 
grief, as the children by the white father — now both taken 
away — were her favorites. But since the death of Frank 
she has destroyed her idols and has ceased visiting the 
temples. " He doeth all things well." Respectfully, 

Mrs. ■ . 

The package — Miss B 's inheritance — contained 

"The Golden Wreath," a song-book, well-fingered, in- 
closed in which was the following letter: 

San Francisco, January 6, 1884, ) 
City and County Hospital. S 

Dear Miss B : I think soon happy now. I wish 

you please. keep this song-book for me. Leave turned 
over by " Last Rose of Summer." Miss, while I am here 
I read this song many times one day. I think I can tell 
you now ; no shame to either of us, because it is your 
song and because I love you. What life worth to me, a 
half-breed, with ignorant heathen for mother? My 
father bought his wife for one hundred dollars in China. 
I think if my father sold is not worth ten cents for a hus- 
band. Can borned his children with white blood, but 
cannot marry American woman, and so troubles must 
kill. Dear Miss, my troubles so harder to bear, now soon 
conquered. If could hear you sing once more, oh! so 
happier. But better so. Make your good heart feel bad 
to see me now. Oh, how I leaf and leaf San Francisco! 
Must always come back and go on the street, where per- 
haps can see you. When I go away, dream, dream 
about you every night, and make so much uneasi- 
ness; must come back. Miss, I am glad soon over. My 
life short, so full of troubles, was afraid would go crazy 
and sent to Stockton. Dear Miss, 1 know you ask if I 
make piece with God. I answer, the great Christian 
God is too merciful to make suffer again, when all my life 
been hell tome. I not bottheration to you any more. 1 
make all promise that after all is over my heathen mother 
and her idol friends not to sec me; not to go to the grave- 
yard hold. Now I make two promises from you. 1 'lease 
see that my mother putted no candles or firecrackers and 
roast hog over my graveyard hold. Please, also, buy a 
rose and planted it there yourself. Please do this things. 
1 will never asked you somethings more. Now, my last : 
try no more to teach Christian God tothechinese people. 
Try to teach christian man to not turned heathen \>y buy- 
ing idol women and borned half-breeds. In chinatown 
now too many half-breeds. All, like me, feel Americans, 
love American girls. All whoa, whoa and trouble. 

Dear Miss, belief now life commenced for me maybe 
to-night, maybe to-morrow. My Chinese name ("Good 
Luck ") corned at last. I pray God love you and care for 
you and save all trouble. Amen, Farewell, from your 
sincerely, King Ho. 



A DAY WITH BILL NYE. 



BY SAM DAVIS. 



A couple of years ago I had occasion to pass through 
Laramie City, Wyoming, the site of the office of the 
famous Boomerang, then edited by Bill Nye. Having 
met Nye in Salt Lake, I felt sufficiently acquainted to 
call and see him. A darkey hauled me from the train to 
the office, in a hack, and when I offered him a half he 
touched his hat, with a grin, and said : 

" Friend of Mr. Nye, sah? No charge, sah." 

The office was over a rather strong-smelling liverv 
stable, and the atmosphere of the entire premises was 
horsy to the last degree. Climbing a tremulous flight 
of stairs, I found myself in Nye's editorial room, where a 
civil suit was in progress. Somewhat to my astonishment, 
Nye was seated on the bench, patiently listening to the 
testimony in the case. I entered the door of the rather 
small room, and as I paused a moment to look around 
for a place to sit down, Nye recognized me, and, rising, 
said : 

"One moment, gentlemen ;" and, turning to where I 
was standing, called out rather loudly: 

" Judge, come up here and seat yourself," at the same 
time draw ing an extra chair to his side. 

In Salt Lake, Nye had assured me that he was a Justice 
of the Peace in Laramie, and used his sanctum as a court- 
room ; but that a man of his disposition could ever find 
it in his heart to properly perform the sober functions of 
a magistrate, did not seem probable ; and believing the 
story simply a draft on my credulity, or an exhibition of 
his bubbling facetiousness, I had gravely responded by 
stating that I had presided two years over a Methodist 
church in Oakland, at the same time congratulating my- 
self that I had at least been able to hold my own with 
the Great Prevaricator of the West. 

Imagine my feelings when I discovered that Nye's ac- 
count of his official standing was indeed true, and that I 
had deceived him outrageously on an hour's acquaintance. 
These thoughts were passing rapidly through my mind as 
he motioned me to a chair, and there being no other, I 
took a place alongside him on the bench. The idea of a 
non-judicial personage sitting beside a judge, although 
nothing more than a country Justice of the Peace, seemed 
to me wholly out of place, not to say ludicrous. There 
was nothing left to do, however, but to assume an air of 
being perfectly at home; yet while I was gravely engaged 
in this performance, one of the counsel, whose argument I 
had interrupted on entering, finished arguing his point of 
law and sat down. Nye, giving me a slight nudge with 
his knee, rose again and remarked, with a gravity of de- 
meanor which I shall never forget : 

"Gentlemen, it is with some feeling of pride and pleas- 
ure that 1 introduce my friend Judge Berryfloss, of San 
Francisco, one of the leading lights of the San Francisco 
bar, and ex-Judge of the Twelfth Judicial District. As 
this case is a somewhat peculiar one, I would like to have 
Judge Berryfloss act in my place. The defendant here is 
a journalist — engaged in conducting a newspaper in this 
city. It is a business rival of the Boomerang, a paper 
conducted by myself. There have been some insinua- 
tions thrown out by counsel in this case that they could 
not have a fair trial before me, and, having learned of 
the journey of }udge Berryfloss aeross the continent, I 
took the trouble to telegraph him at Ogden to come here, 
if possible, and sit in this case. I do not wish it said, after 
the case is decided, that I made any unfair rulings or 
tried in any way to influence the jury. I do this, not be 1 - 
cause I think it necessary in a case of this magnitude, 
but to protect my own judicial reputation. As far as 
Judge Berryfloss is concerned, there can certainly be no 
objections to a gentleman of his reputation as a jurist sit- 
ting in judgment upon any case ever tried in Wyoming." 

The counsel for the defendant, who did not appear to 
be on very good terms with Nye, said that he would be 
happy to try a case before a man whose rulings would be 
in accordance with law, and where there was no fear of 
their being reversed by another court. 

Counsel for plaintiff objected to any change of judges 
at this stage of the case. It would necessitate a new 
trial, and he believed the jury was already weary of the 
evidence and indignant at the time c onsumed in arguing 
issues raised on the baldest technicalities he had ever 
heard of in a court of justice. I le believed Nye to be as 
fair a minded man as lived, and challenged a denial of 
his assertion from any source. 

The effort to maintain a judicial expression of coun- 
tenance during this wrangle might be measured by com- 
parison to the effort of sawing a couple of cords of wood 
before breakfast. 

During his talk Nye wore a look of profound serious- 
ness, and accompanied his remarks with earnest gesture, 
which bespoke the born actor. 

I called to mind a favorite trick of a police-court Justice 
in Chicago named Banyan, who during an argument would 
let his pencil drop while pretending to fix it over his ear, 
and then stooping behind the desk to find it, would seize 
a whisky bottle and indulge in a sly nip, after which he 
would jxDp his head above the desk and gaze upon the 
jury with the old melancholy air that had saddened them 
a few seconds before. When I saw Nye fumbling with a 



pencil I surmised that he contemplated this trick, and 
when he lifted his hand to his ear, the horror of what he 
might do see|>ed through my whole system like water 
through a sponge. This dread was really all that enabled 
me to preserve my decorum. As long as Mr. Nye did not 
give a rendition of Banyan's famous trick, I felt consider- 
able confidence in my ability to pull through. 

Again the counsel wrangled, while Nye was obdurate, 
vowing that he would not try the case when such high 
judicial talent was present. During a temporary lull I 
embraced the opportunity of declining to serve, on the 
ground that I had arrived too late. "It's a very simple 
matter, gentlemen," I said. "The Supreme Court of 
California, in the case of Donald vs. Ulrich, and the Su- 
preme Court of Iowa, in the case of Rodgers vs. Hender- 
son, have both so decided. I am willing to give Judge 
Nye the benefit of any advice which he may need ; but 
allow me to say that, under the circumstances, my pres- 
ence upon the bench is a gross violation of law, and I 
shall now retire." 

With these remarks I cast a reproving look at my ju- 
dicial associate, under which he appeared to wilt, and 
rising, I left the seat I had just occupied. The case then 
proceeded in due form, and I discovered that the plaintiff 
was a printer who was suing a publisher for wages, and 
the latter was running a paper in opposition to the Boom- 
erang. 

Presently the publisher was asked to state his bona fide 
circulation, and his attorney objected. After a long dis- 
pute, during which Nye was as solemn as death,, he re- 
marked that the question was a delicate one, under the 
circumstances. While he did not think that a man 
could be compelled to disclose his business secrets, he 
would adjourn the court until the next morning, that he 
might have time to consult authorities and make himself 
safe and solid. 

The room was soon emptied, and when the last man 
had reached the bottom of the stairs Nye doubled him- 
self up like a jack-knife, straightened out again a couple 
of times, and laughed as if the pent-up merriment of the 
past half-hour had found its vent at once. After he had 
sobered down a little he said that my refusal to sit in the 
case would always result in a gulf between us. He could 
never forgive me to his dying day. 

The next morning, when the court was called to order, 
he stated gravely that he had consulted all the leading 
authorities, from the English common law to the statutes 
of Wyoming, and had discovered, somewhat to his sur- 
prise, that the question was proper and admissible. He 
had also consulted Judge Berryfloss, and his opinion 
being in accord with the authorities, he considered it im- 
perative to so decide. The question must be answered. 

Finally the defendant admitted that his total circulation 
was 147. 

" You have a perfect right, sir, to count in exchanges 
and deadheads," said Nye, in a pitying voice. 

The abashed publisher made no reply, and people in 
the court-room were astonished, as he had claimed sev- 
eral thousand. The jury gave the case to the plaintiff, 
and the revelation of the small circulation of the defend- 
ant had the almost immediate effect of ruining him in 
business. Not long afterward I received a marked copy 
of the Boomerang, which contained a burlesque obituary 
on the dead newspaper in question, headed w ith a cut of a 
monument which looked as if it had been engraved on 
the back of a boxwood job-letter by Nye's own hand. 



A MIDNIGHT ARREST. 



[After the style of the Daily Papers.) 

Last night about eleven o'clock, as Officer John Wil- 
liam Mcintosh was standing at the corner of Clay and 
Montgomery streets, he saw a suspicious-looking indi- 
vidual approach with a bundle under his arm. Suspect- 
ing that the fellow had effected an entrance into some 
house and burglariously despoiled it, Officer Mcintosh 
accosted him, at the same time blowing his whistle. 
Officers Frank Murphy, Patrick Flannagan and Gottlieb 
Schimmerhorn ran up. A few minutes later Officers 
Michael Toohey, Dennis Finnerty, Ivan Petrovitch, 
Giuseppe Cadanasso and Albert Brown arrived. Sus- 
picioning from the movements of the polite that he was 
in danger of arrest, the man with the bundle suddenly 
started off down Clay street on a dead run. The blowing 
of whistles attracted the attention of Special Officer 
lames Hennessey, who attempted to head off the 
fleeing man at the corner of Sansome, but the 
fellow turned up Sansome and ran toward Wash- 
ington. Here Officers T. II. W. Smith and 
Edward Rinaldo Mulligan sprang out of a doorway with 
raised clubs, but the man dodged and fled down Wash- 
ington to P.attcry, where Private Watchman Heinrich 
Beerschwill attempted to intercept him. Failing, he 
drew his pistol and fired six shots in rapid succession and 
at short range -without effect, however, except to bring 
the fugitive to a halt. Within three minutes Officers 

Mcintosh, Murphy, Flannagan, Schimmerhorn, Too- 
hey, Finnerty, Petrovitch, Cadanasso, Brown, Smith, 

Mulligan ana Special Hennessey were on the ground. A 

search of the man's bundle developed one shirt (newly- 
washed and ironed), one collar, one pair of socks, and a 
handkerchief. He protested thai he had come by the 
property honestly, and led the policemen to Ah Talkee's 
wash-house, on First street, near Mission, where the 
Mongols of the establishment identified him as a regular 
customer. He gave the name of Peter Tompkins, and 
claimed to be a society reporter on a morning newspaper. 
He was released and the officers returned to their beats. 
Too much credit for their vigilance cannot be given Of- 
ficers Mcintosh, Murphy, Flannagan, Schimmerhorn, 
Toohey, Finnerty, I'etrovich, Cadanasso, Brown, Smith, 
Mulligan, and Special Hennessey and Private Walc-hm-in 
Beerschwill, 



6 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



IN TIIK SULTAN'S CAKDKN. 



liY CLINTON SCOLLARD. 



She oped the portal of the palace, 
She stole into the garden's gloom; 

Krom every spotless snowy chalice 

The lilies breathed a sweet perfume. 

She stole into the garden's gloom, 

She thought that no one woidd discover; 

The lilies breathed a sweet perfume, 
She swiftly ran to meet her lover. 

She thought that no one would discover, 
l!ut footsteps followed ever near: 

She swiftly ran to meet her lover 
liesidc the fountain crystal clear. 

Hut footsteps followed ever near; 

Ah, who is that she sees before her 
lieside the fountain crystal clear? 

'Tis not her hazel-eyed adorer. 

Ah, who is that she sees before her, " 

His hand upon his scimitar? 
'Tis not her hazel-eyed adorer, 

It is her lord of Candahar! 

His hand upon his scimitar — 

Alas, what brought such dread disaster! 
It is her lord of Candahar, 

The tierce Sultan, her lord and master. 

Alas, what brought such dread disaster! 

" Your pretty lover's dead !" he cries — 
The tierce Sultan her lord and master — 

'"Neath yonder tree his body lies." 

"Your pretty lover's dead!" he cries 
(A sudden, ringing voice behind him); 

"'Neath yonder tree his body lies — " 
"Hie, lying dog! go thou and find him!" 

A sudden, ringing voice l>ehind him, 
A deadly blow, a moan of h.ite, 

"Die, lying dog! go thou and find him! 
Come, love, our steeds are at the gate!" 

A deadly blow, a moan of hate, 

His blood ran red as wine in chalice; 

"Come, love, our steeds are at the gate!" 
She oped the portal of the palace. 



"JERSEY." 



BY EDWARD P. FISH. 



When I first knew him, twenty years ago, he was the 
driver of a street-car of the Omnibus 1 ine. Short in 
stature, with a round, full face, covered with a stubbly, 
sandy beard and dotted with huge freckles — like butter- 
cups decking a brown field— a full, honest blue eye, a 
close-cro]>i>ed growth of hair of a faded-red hue, and 
clad in rough garments befitting his station, the tout en- 
semble of my friend was not prepossessing. Hut it is not 
of his garb or his personal attractions— which, indeed, 
were not ot an order to win the favor of women nor to at- 
tract the attention of men— that I wish to speak; rather 
of the womanly tenderness, the unselfish, kindly nature, 
the thoughtful regard for others, which stamped this plain 
person as one of nature's noblemen. 

Surrounded as he was by the rude companions of his 
vocation— rutle in speech and manners, rough, unculti- 
vated, dissipated and profane — Jersey walked in a path- 
way of his own choosing, proof against the allurements 
of vice, free from the foul habits which were common to 
his class, invulnerable to temptation either sensual or pe- 
cuniary, neither vulgar nor profane in language, thought- 
fitrt always of the comfort and pleasure of his fellows, 
prompt and generous in his contributions to a distressed 
mate, faithful in the discharge of every duty — he was re- 
spected by his associates, honored by his employers, and 
loved by many of the patrons of his line. 

Jersey was the sobriquet by which he was know to his 
companions or those whose frequent trips, upon his car 
had made them familiar with the driver and his virtues. 
Only to the superintendent and the receiver was his real 
name known. To these he was simply a trusted servant, 
whose fidelity to the interests of the company and his strict 
observance of its rules constituted his only commendable 
qualities. In fair or stormy weather Jersey was ever at 
his [Kist, always discharging his simple though arduous 
duties with a due regard to the requirements of his posi- 
tion; with a thoughtful consideration for the humblest of 
his passengers which endeared him even to the most ex- 
acting. 

I was at that time residing in the northern part of the 
city, and made daily trips to and from my business, over 
the Omnibus line. I rode frequently u|K>n No. 8, of which 
Jersey was the driver. My attention was first attracted 
to him by his manner toward a little lame girl— suffering 
from an incurable hip disease — to whom his gentle heart 
had gone out in tender sympathy for her aftliction. She 
was a sweet girl, whose pretty, pale face, sanctified by 
the physical torture she bore with Spartan-like fortitude, 
had won the affection of this uncanny servitor. 

As is frequently the case on our street -car lines, Jersey 
nraf| sometimes forced to do double duty as driver and 
conductor. It was on such an occasion that he was first 
brought in contact with the little sufferer, whose name 



was Mollie S , between whom and himself sprang up 

a friendship which soon ripened into a warm affection on 
the part of Mollie and a steadfast devotion on the part of 
the kind-hearted driver. Tenderly she was lifted into 
the car, and placed upon the seat where she might not be 
crowded. 

With that kindly, womanlike instinct which predomi- 
nated in him, Jersey quickly discerned that the loveliness 
of feature and temperament that characterized this little 
unfortunate were like the brilliancy which decks the west- 
ern sky with prismatic lines preceding the death of day; 
that it was premonitory to the great change that should 
bring to her surcease of pain, and transmute her pure soul 
into a creature of light and beauty in the " sunset land." 

His kindness won her heart. Her sweet trust won his 
devotion, and awoke all the purest and best instincts of 
his loving, unselfish nature. In her impulsive regard for 
her new friend, and with much of the imperiousness which 
a mother's loving indulgence freely condoned, this fading 
flower came to insist upon riding only in Jersey's car. He 
came to regard her as the object of his especial care and 
protection. 

He learned her residence, which was on one of the 
streets intersecting Third, and but a little distance from 
that busy thoroughfare. Then his generous nature mani- 
fested itself in many tokens, sent — casually at first, 
finally almost daily — at his expense, to her humble home. 
To-day it was a basket of choice fruits; to-morrow some 
dainty, prepared, regardless of ex[>cnse, at a neighboring 
restaurant; and again, a bunch of violets or a bouquet 
of rare flowers purchased of a leading florist. And these 
things were sent without a clew to the donor — with a re- 
finement of delicacy worthy of a Chesterfield. But 
Mollie shrewdly guessed whose generous hand supplied 
the gifts she prized so much, and her love strengthened 
as her physical powers slowly failed under the steady in- 
roads of a destroying malady. 

This strange friendship became an absorbing study for 
me, and I watched its progress with a growing interest in 
this ill-assorted pair — so like in those traits which mark 
the sii[)erior, finely strung, highly sensitive mental order; 
so opposite in mould and feature and all external char- 
acteristics. A child — she was scarce twelve years of age — 
fragile as the violets she loved so much, cruelly maimed 
by the malpractice of a great surgeon who had gratified 
his love for science by carving her tender flesh to illus- 
trate a clinical lecture before his class; bearing her suf- 
ferings with a heroism that would have made a soldier 
famous in story. A rough, untutored man, who filled but 
a small space in the narrow sphere of his lowly life, but 
endowed with the mental attributes of a refined, delicate, 
cultured woman ; pure in his love for his stricken protege, 
self-sacrificing in his great regard for the gentle being 
whose aftliction so strongly appealed to his generous 
nature. 

He came to watch for her coming — he had learned of 
her wayward determination to ride only in his car — and 
his honest blue eye beamed with a kindlier light as he 
halted his team while she was lifted to a seat in a sunny 
corner and her crutches placed convenient to her hand. 
Then it seemed that the car rolled along with an easier 
motion, the horses were gentler and more tractable, and 
the driver's attention was divided between the picking up 
of occasional fares and solicitude for the crippled girl 
w ho had so strangely come into his life. 

Day by day the little one's features took on new lines 
of suffering. A supernatural beauty transfigured her sweet 
face. Like a hero, she patiently, uncomplainingly bore 
the pains which racked her tender frame. Like a prince, 
Jersey bestowed upon her gifts of flowers and such deli- 
cacies as were needful to her- which a despairing mother's 
purse was inadequate to supply. 

Soon her rapidly waning strength made necessary the 
discontinuance of the trips upon Jersey's car, which had 
afforded her so much pleasure; because it was only on 
these occasions that she could see her benefactor and 
thank him for his kindness. And then this driver, whose 
great heart grew heavy with the thought that his pet 
would soon be beyond the reach of his care, drew more 
and more upon his scant earnings to pay for a carriage in 
which, on warm and pleasant days, she would be driven 
out in the pure air and the sunshine. 

Even this pleasure was soon denied her, for the rapid 
inroads of disease so enfeebled her that she could no 
longer leave her room or her couch. 

Jersey then begged the privilege of calling to see her at 
her home. Much to his delight, his request was granted. 
This could only be effected by putting on an "extra" in 
his place; which was done two or three times a week, 
without a thought of the reduction it caused in his wages. 

I was present at the first and two or three subsequent 
meetings of these devoted friends. Clad in his best, 
bearing some gift for Mollie, he approached ber bedside, 
and as he clasped her tiny, transparent hand in his strong, 
rough palm, an expression of pitiful tenderness overspread 
his face, tears stood in his eyes, and in softly modulated 
tones he talked with her of her dolls, her toys, and the 
rides she should take when she grew strong again. With 
a touch gentle as her own he stroked her brown hair, 
while he strove to amuse her with stories of his life, his 
horses, and strange if not impossible scenes he had wit- 
nessed. And when, in a voice trembling with emotion, 
b? bade her good-night — fearing, no doubt, that this 



would be their last interview— he withdrew with downcast 
head in the vain effort to conceal the tears that trickled ' 
amid the furrows of his weather-worn cheeks. 

It quickly after this became apparent that the closing ! 
scene was near at hand. The sweet face of the sufferer 
grew daily shaqier and whiter, the intelligent brown eyes 
became larger and had a far-away look, as if they were 1 
already viewing the beauties of the " better land;" the! 
little hands grew thinner and more transparent ; the 
gentle voice had sunk to a whis|.)er. Meekly and |>a- 
tiently she bore the torture of her consuming malady. 

She came to talk much of the future life which Rev. 

Mr. W , the good rector of Trinity, had taught her to 

look forward to. In her childish way she spoke often of 
her joy when her mamma and Jersey should have rejoined 
her there. With abiding faith and perfect trust in the 
beautiful teachings of the church she awaited the issue, 
in expectancy of the white-winged messenger who should 
bear her to that home where there should be for her no 
more pain or sorrow. 

Jersey was oftener with her now. Unnecessary con- 
versation having been forbidden by the attending phy- 
sician, they could only express their affection in the mute 
language of the eye. Jersey would sit with Mollie's hand 
clasped in his, scarcely removing his gaze from her face, 
until admonished that he must withdraw. 

One morning, early in March, the doctor, whose prac- 
ticed eye detected unmistakable signs of dissolution, 
turned Irom her bedside and held a whispered conversa- 
tion with her mother. Some of the friends of the mother 
and child were called in, and a messenger was immedi- 
ately dispatched for Jersey, who came later in the day. 
In the afternoon Mollie's couch was moved, at her re- 
quest, nearer to the windows, where the sunlight 
sent a bright ray athwart her saintlike face and sur- 
rounded with a nimbus of light the beautiful head of the 
dying child. 

On one side of her couch sat her mother. On the 
other Jersey, with head bowed down, the now cold hand 
of his pet enclasped in his. Striving as best he might to 
conceal his emotion, his grief betrayed itself in the sad 
lines about his mouth and the convulsive movements of 
his rugged frame. As the last ray of the setting sun 
rested for a moment on Mollie's pure brow, and then 
faded away, her sweet spirit departed from its shattered 
tenement; her loving, grateful heart was stilled forever; 
sickness, nor pain, nor sorrow, had for her any further 
terrors. 

And then the grief of her humble friend — no longer re- 
strained, overwhelming, consuming — was no less painful 
to witness than that of the bereft mother. He was incon- 
solable; pitiful in his weakness; unapproachable in his 
great sorrow. The light had gone out of three lives — 
child, mother, and this car-driver — at one stroke. 

Led from the room by a neighbor, that the parent's 
heart might not be torn anew by his ill restrained sobs, 
he groix.'d in a dazed and despairing manner out and into 
the street, and falteringly found his way to the [joor tene- 
ment he called his home. At the funeral he stood in 
humble attitude near the casket his scant means had 
helped to purchase. The choicest and more costly flow- 
ers among those which were strewn above and about the 
dearly loved form were contributed by him. His grief, 
now subdued — controlled by an effort — had left its im- 
press upon his honest, kindly face. Turning from the 
grave which held all that he had loved on earth, he sadly 
went his way and resumed the duties of his office. 

Patient, industrious and frugal, he managed to accu- 
mulate a little money, and a few months later drew his 
salary and his savings, resigned his position, and left the 
city for a distant mining camp, when I lost track of him 
entirely for many years. 

During a recent trip through one of our southern terri- 
tories 1 met him in the city of T , where he is exten- 
sively engaged in stock-raising, being the owner of a ranch 
and a large number of blood cattle and horses— the latter 
his special pride. His threescore years have blanched 
his hair and multiplied the furrows in his benevolent face,, 
but have not dimmed the brightness of his honest eyes. 
The latter grew suspiciously moist when I spoke of Mol- 
lie, and he begged me not to talk of her. Evidently he 
still cherished the memory of the little one who had so 
largely occupied his heart. 

1 learned, ujjon inquiry, that accumulated years had in 
no degree blunted his sensibility nor diminished his re- 
gard for the poor and afflicted. Taking some trouble to 
investigate, I ascertained that a number of unfortunates 

in T were dci>endent ii]>on his bounty, which was 

lavished with a prodigality characteristic of the man. All 
had a kind word to say for Jersey. He is loved and 
blessed by the poor, honored by the rich, and resected 
by all who know him. In the twilight of a useful life- 
lime, he holds firmly to his belief— his only religion— that 
" it is more blessed to give than to receive." 



Lord Bute has given an order to Miss Edmonia A. Ed- 
wards, the American negro sculptress, to execute a mar- 
ble statue of the Virgin Mary for one of his chapels. 



Paper is now made in Sweden from the bleached and 
blanched remains of mosses that lived centuries ago, and 
are now found in enormous quantities. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



7 



LOVE MK FOR THAI' SAKE. 



BY JOSEPH T. GOODMAN. 

Such as I am in body, soul and sense, 
I swear by heaven there is no part of me 

Hut loves you with a passion so intense 

And absolute that verily my soul 

Requires your love to make its being whole : 
Beseech you, take 

Compassion on my soul's necessity. 
And love me for that sake. 

Or if that may not be, denote, I pray. 
What quality of being you could love; 

And though it need to cast myself away 

And take another effigy to gain 

The semblance of the paragon you feign, 
Vet I'll unmake 

This Maker's image, so that you approve 
And love me for that sake. 

Rut if you cannot love me as I am 
Or as for your sweet love I fain would be, 

Then in some moment of delicious calm. 
Tray, sleep and dream in that strange life apart 
Of one that wholly satisfies your heart, 

And when you wake 
Think, O beloved, that you dreamed of me, 

And love me for that sake. 



THE POET OF THE I X L 



BY ARTHUR m'EWEN. 



The German poet to whose fame I wish to add lived in 
San Francisco. His name was Hermann Schwiper. I 
never saw him, as he had the misfortune to die without 
meeting me. Of his personal characteristics I learned at 
second-hand from a man who was his patron and believed 
in him. His poetry speaks for itself. The garden of beau- 
tiful thoughts which he left behind is his monument. 

One day two years ago Mr. Flavin, proprietor of the 
I X L, met me on Kearny street. Everybody has heard of 
Flavin and the I X L. He has a passion for advertising, 
and I respect him accordingly. My friend Flavin as- 
sumed an appearance of joy as he greeted me, and was 
gay and reckless in his happiness to the extent of two 
glasses of beer. Quite suddenly a cloud fell upon his 
countenance as we were discussing hilariously the condi- 
tion of commerce and journalism in the metropolis. 

" Mac," said Mr. Flavin, with gloomy familiarity, 
" poor Schwiper pegged out this morning." 

" You don't say so," was my feeling reply; "and who 
was Schwiper? " 

Mr. Flavin looked amazed and disgusted. 

" Who was Schwiper!" he cried. 

I nodded. 

" You don't mean to say you didn't know Schwiper?" 
demanded Mr. Flavin, with some indignation. 

I protested that I really hadn't had the honor, and Mr. 
Flavin gazed long upon my countenance to satisfy him- 
self that I wasn't joking. Being assured that I was in 
earnest, Mr. Flavin heaved a sigh, and said : 

"Well, IH be hanged 1" 

My curiosity was aroused, and I demanded' to know 
who Schwiper was. 

" He was my poet," said Mr. Flavin. " You must have 
seen his poetry in the papers. He's been writing for me 
for three years." 

"No," I said, "I never read advertisements when I 
can help it, even when thrown into the seductive form of 
poetry." 

"Then you've missed it," said Mr. Flavin, looking 
astonished. " Come over and I'll show you the kind of 
work Schwiper could do." 

As we were crossing the street Mr. Flavin stopped, and 
taking me by the lapel caused a horse-car to come to a 
halt, to ask me if I really had never seen Schwiper. 
" You must have seen him," insisted Mr. Flavin. " He- 
was out of the Inebriate Asylum last time you were down 
here, and when he was sober he used to assist in the hat 
department. Don't you remember? — tall, thin man, with 
a red head, and pockmarked. The bridge of his nose 
was broken, and his front teeth were gone — got into a 
row in a saloon five or six years ago, and was hit with a 
beer glass." 

I couldn't recall Schwiper, even with the assistance of 
this attractive sketch of his personal appearance. 

" He was a genius!" cried Mr. Flavin, as he unlocked 
the door of his private ground-glass office, "and he 
wasn't expensive. He'd work for next to nothing, and 
most of the time he was in the asylum and the county had 
to support him. When he was out he used to save up to 
go on a spree. I used to say to him : ' Schwi|>er, hang 
it, man, you have talent and shouldn't throw yourself 
away. Why, with your ability you ought to be famous 
and independent, instead of being a regular bum sup- 
ported by my charity.' He never seemed to like it when 
I tried to encourage him, somehow. It used often to 
start him on a drunk. There was another good thing 
about Schwiper," said Mr. Flavin, lighting a cigar and 
taking down a large scrap-book from a shelf and mount- 
ing a high stool. " Owing to his front teeth being gone 
and never having money enough to buy false ones, he 
couldn't speak plain, but sorter mumbled, and never 
wasted time in the;hat department by chinning with cus- 



tomers. But you bet he could write! Why, one poem 
that he wrote on last spring's new stock was worth a thou- 
sand dollars to me. I'll read it to you." Mr. Flavin ran 
over the leaves of the big scrap-book hurriedly. " Ah, 
here it is," he said, pinning the poem with his finger. 
" It makes me feel bad," he added in a low voice, " to 
look over these here things. It brings up poor Schwi|x.T 
so plain, somehow. I tell you, Mac, a feller ought to 
keep a tight hand on his temper; but, by jingo, the way 
I'm tried in this store by the help -business so immense, 
you know— that sometimes I let go all holds and just 
prance around and curse and swear like a pirate. It was 
three weeks ago that poor Schwiper went to the asylum 
for the last time, and hang me if I won't always kind o' 
feel that I had a hand in the poor devil's death. He w as 
thinkin'over a poem. I could always tell when the 
writin' fit was on him, an' generally tipped the wink to 
the help not to talk to him or disturb him in any way at 
such times. Well, I saw him sell a two-dollar hat for six 
bits to a Hoosier, and somehow it made me so hot that 1 
up and swore at him and called him a broken-nosed, 
drunken tramp, and said I'd discharge him and let him 
starve. He gave me a queer sort of look, and without 
saying a word put on his old tile— he always wore a plug 
hat, and it made him look like a chromo— and walked out 
of the store. I never saw him again, and now he's dead." 

Mr. Flavin wiped away a tear, for Mr. Flavin is a man 
of sensibility. 

"I was a good friend of Schwiper," resumed Mr. 
Flavin, turning again to the scrap-book, " and I gave him 
a dollar extra for this poem. It's about the finest he ever 
wrote. Why, Dan O'Connell — you know Dan; writes 
fair poetry himself— Dan comes to me the day I put this 
in the Call, at two-bits a line, and he says to me : ' Mr. 
Flavin, sir, will you be kind enough to convey the con- 
gratulations of a brother bard to Mr. Schwiper? He is a 
man of talent, sir,' says Mr. O'Connell, 'and I'd back 
him against Tennyson to sing the glories of a spring stock 
of miscellaneous goods. It does you honor, Mr. Flavin,' 
says Mr. O'Connell, ' to be the patron of a man whose 
muse can pack such a load as Mr. Schwiper's and yet 
soar to such lofty heights. Suggest to Mr. Schwiper that 
an ode to your boot department would be likely to carry 
the town by storm.' Well, sir, I repeated O'Connell's 
compliments to Schwiper, and hanged if he didn't get 
mad instead of being tickled to death, as I thought sure 
he'd be. Queer fellows, these poets; I suppose they're 
all alike. However, I want to give you this poem of 
Schwiper's. It's a banger." 

Mr. Flavin laid down his cigar, cleared his throat and 
began : 

"Hail, tuneful nine " 

when he was obliged to cry "hullo" to a call from with- 
out. "Excuse me," he said, as he slipped off his high 
stool and went out. 

When at the end of ten minutes Mr. Flavin returned, 
he remarked that he had forgotten to tell me something 
very interesting about the deceased poet. " He never 
spoke to me about his family," said Mr. Flavin, " but I 
understand that his father stands 'way up in Hamburg or 
Berlin, I forget which — moves in the highest circles — 
deals in beer by the barrel, and is agent for a big pork 
firm in Cincinnati. Schwiper fought a duel, ran off with 
a girl or tapped the old man's till, or some romantic 
cussed nonsense of that kind, and skipped the country. 
Why, I've seen the fellow sit staring at nothing by the 
hour, muttering to himself; antl sometimes a letter with 
German stamps on it would come to him, and then most 
generally he'd go off and gin up. One day when he got 
a letter I asked him in a joke why he didn't get his pic- 
ture taken and send it home to his girl, and he colored 
up, gave a quick glance into one of my big mirrors in the 
hat department and looked for an instant at his .broken 
nose and toothless upper jaw, and damme if two big 
tears didn't run down his pockmarked cheeks. Lord, 
how me and my help laughed! However," cried Mr. 
Flavin, wheeling round on his stool to the scrap-bonk 
again, " I want to read you this poem. I always con- 
sidered it poor Schwiper's masterpiece. 
' Hail, tuneful ' 

" Blast it, who's that, now? Come in!" 

A fat, jolly-looking man of middle age entered. He 
and Mr.- Flavin shook hands warmly, and laughed as 
though for two such jovial spirits merely to meet was in 
itself an excellent joke. 

"Come to see about a mahogany overcoat for poor 
Schwiper, 1 suppose — eh, Crossbones?" suggested Mr. 
Flavin. 

" A light redwood suit for summer wear will be more 
appropriate for a gentleman in his circumstances," an- 
swered the undertaker. 

They both roared. 

"Well, you'll have to excuse me, Mac," said Mr. 
Flavin, recovering from his burst of hilarity, and descend- 
ing from his stool. "The help have taken up a subscrip- 
tion to bury Schwiper, and I'll have to slide over with 
Crossbones and make arrangements for the funeral to- 
morrow. Come around some other time, and I'll read 
you some of'Schwiper's poems. He was a banger." 

I never went, but Mr. Flavin is a man of taste, and 
from his high praise of Schwiper's poetic ability, we can 
take it on trust that the countrymen of Goethe have no 
reason to be ashamed of this other German poet. 



HOG VS. HOCCISHNKSS. 



BY C. .1. C'RKV'OT. 

A few days ago, while crossing the bay on one of our 
ferry-boats, I overheard the following conversation 
between a fine, large, sonorous-voiced German and a 
gaunt, seedy-looking man : 

" It is as I tell you, mein Gott!" said the German. 
" Our government " [probably meaning Bismarck's] " has 
no personal grudge against Minister Sargent, who, as 
every unpreju-ju " 

" Unprejudiced?" suggested the gaunt man. 

"Yes; as every unprejudiced man here and in all 
Europe knows and admits, has given not the least cause 
for it. No — nor even any objection against American 
pork. Humbug! Nothing but a pretest." 

" Pretext?" suggested the gaunt man. 

" Prc-prctects " 

" Pre-text." 

" Prc-pre — verrluchied! Nothing but humbug! The 
fact is, Old Bis. wants to play the same game with America 
as he played with France, mein Gott!" 

" Play the same game with us he played with I' ranee! 
Pshaw!" sneered the gaunt man ; " that's played out." 

" Do you think so?" asked the German, with a shrewd 
twinkle in his blue eyes. 

" Do I?" returned the gaunt man, sending a large jet of 
tobacco juice over the deck. " I'd like to know how he'd 
manaee that." 

"I'll tell you," said the German. [I think it was at 
this juncture that he offered the gaunt man a cigar and 
lit one himself.! " Bismarck wanted Alsace and Lor- 
raine, and so went to work to raise a devil of an army in 
Prussia, at the same time sending out spies to find out the 
condition of the army Napoleon could raise. Ach, mein 
Gott! Poor Nap. thought he could raise a million, but 
Ris. knew he couldn't, and commenced — just as he has 
done to Minister Sargent — to publicly insult the French 
Minister, until, in honor bound, the French had to de- 
clare war, without being prepared for it." 

" All very well," observed the gaunt man, biting off an 
enormously big point of his cigar. He was evidently no 
cigar smoker. " But America isn't France, and our 
army — " 

" Ach ! " sighed the German, with a forward motion of 
the hand, peculiar to Germans. " Don't mention the 
American army, or you'll make me cry. There, now; I 
meant no offense. You are a born American, I am one 
by choice — you by necessity; I by sober inclination, 
and consequently as good a citizen as you. Why then 
should I mean anything offensive against a country I love 
better than the one I was born in? The fact is, old Bis. 
is a sharp rat. He knows that America without an army 
is a match for the whole German empire — Bismark, the 
Quadruple Alliance, and Emperor William, all included. 
Why? Because he knows that if he would try his Franco- 
Prussian trick with America, he would break his head 
against us, while three-fourths of Germany — that's to say, 
the socialists — would raise the devil, the French step on 
his pet corns, and the English hit him in the stomach. 

" Has Bismark corns? " asked the gaunt man. 

" Yes, mein Gott!" returned the German. "Two — 
Alsace and Lorraine. They keep him in a continual 
agony." 

" Ha ha ha! " roared the gaunt man ; very good." 

"He insulted the French Minister, to grab Alsace and 
Lorraine from the French, whom he knew were unpre- 
pared for war; and now, he insults Minister Sargent to 
get a pretest- tecst — " 

"Pretext." 

" to stop emigration to America. There's where 

his shoes pinch." 

"On his pet corns, hey?" laughed the gaunt man. 

" Yes, mein Gott! He hates Minister Sargent, Presi- 
dent Arthur, the Senate, Congress— the whole American 
nation- as the devil hates daylight, because he sees how 
the backbone (that's to say, his best cannon-food) are 
coming to this country; how young men, sick of fighting 
for despotism- -whole families in which there arc grown- 
up boys, the relations of the millions of Germans who 
have already adopted America as their country are all 
coming here, and that makes him desperate. He cannol 
forbid emigration to America alone without giving cause, 
and that cause he has found in the American hog. Hog- 
gishly, he tries to make the American hog the means of 
saving Germany from being despoiled of its best people. 
Now, here am I: I have a father, mother, two brothers 
as big as myself, a wife and four grown-up, fine hoys, still 
living in Germany. Bui I have done well here." [Here 
he nulled out a fine gold watch to look at the time.] 
"About two weeks ago I sent them money for traveling 
expenses to this country. I hot>c to Gott they may have 
left before Mr. Sargent resigns. ' 

" Do you expect he will resign?" 

" I don't know," replied the German, while an anxious 
cloud passed over his good, honest face; " I hope not, for 
the honor of this country. They say he is just the man 
to face his traducers. Hut if he does resign, all I hope 
is that President Arthur will think twice before sending 
another in his place, to be in turn insulted. Take a glass 
peer? " 

Thus ended the con versa t if >n ; and looking after the 
two men as they went to the lower-deck bar, I could not 
help thinking there was truth and a moral in the Ger- 
man's homely expressed opinion, and that native born 
and naturalized patriot, purse-proud money hunter and 
laborer, Democrat, Republican, Independent and Work- 
ingman. North and South — even the alien wafted to our 
shores in quest of liberty and the celebrated dollar — 
should be keenly alive to the sting of the affront ; for in 
our country the Minister represents the government ap- 
pointed by the people. The Minister was insulted, the 
government snubbed ; but the pcople.received the stab. 



s 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 

PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY 

At 420 Kearny street by 
Joseph T. Goodman, Akthck McEwen, Thomas E. Flynn. 

Subscription : $4 ■ year, postage paid; single copies Ten Cents. 
Advertisements: By the month, \i inch, $4; Yt inch, $5; 1 inch, $6; 2 
inches, $10; and all additional space $5 per inch. 

Newsdealers supplied by the San Francisco News Company, 210 Post st. 

ENTERED AT THE SAN FRANCISCO I'OSTOFFICE AS SECOND-CLASS MATTER. 

SAN FRANCISCO ----- MARCH 8, 1884 



THE EXTRA SESSION. 



Governor Stoneman's call for an extra session of the 
Legislature has come late, but that it has come at all is 
so gratifying that there will be a general disposition to 
overlook the months of feeble hesitation which filled the 
people with discouragement and made General Stoneman 
an object of contempt. But now that he has done his 
duty, however tardily, the people will think better of 
him. We do, certainly. It takes considerable courage 
to make public confession that one has blundered, and 
the Governor has had the courage to do this. He has 
been more manly than we had come to think it was in 
him to be. Of course the pretext upon which the Gov- 
ernor has seized to extricate himself and his party from 
the mess into which his indecision had plunged both, 
will not bear examination. He pretends that the settle- 
ment of the tax cast s to which the Attorney General con- 
sented has given rise to the " extraordinary occasion " 
which his proclamation has been issued to meet. But 
the offer of the railroad company a few days ago, through 
its attorney, Mr. Haymond, to enter into any desired 
stipulation for the preservation in full of the right claimed 
by the state to the penalties, interest and attorneys' fees, 
t ut the ground from under the Governor's feet. It is 
manifest that General Stoneman has been moved to action 
by causes which are not new, and which should have had 
as much weight with him nine months ago as they have 
now. Time has enabled him to see that he made a 
grievous mistake in not calling an extra session when 
mass meetings of the people, the uncollared press of both 
political parties, and the majority of the Democratic 
county committees of the state were denouncing two of the 
Railroad Commissioners as traitors, and begging the 
Governor to save the public from the consequences of 
their treason. He has now endeavored to remedy the 
blunder into which he was led by advisers, some of them 
well-meaning but timid, others wise in the short-sighted 
craft of the mediocre politician, and still others who gave 
their advice for wages paid them by the railroad com- 
pany. It remains for the Democratic Legislature to im- 
prove the opportunity to re-clothe their party with the 
confidence of the people. 

No one can say that Governor Stoneman, having shaken 
off his lethargy and dismissed the advisers who held his 
hands, has not taken a vigorous grip on the throat of the 
cor|»rate robber which has so long and successfully defied 
the people of the state to interfere with its piracy. The 
call is broad enough to cover the whole ground of com- 
plaint. It gives us a chance at Stanford, Huntington and 
Crocker in a twenty-four-foot ring. It will be a square, 
stand-up fight between them and the people's representa- 
tives, and if the Legislature shall be knocked out, it will 
be our own fault. The great advantage of the extra ses- 
sion will be that no dodging can be successful. The 
familiar tricks by which the issue is obscured at regular 
sessions cannot be played. There will be no calendar 
overloaded w ith miscellaneous bills, which can be drawn 
upon to make a diversion whenever a measure disliked by 
the railroad lobby is being brought near the point of 
action. There are a good many honest men in the present 
Legislature, and they may, we think, be relied on to show 
enough skill to head off all devices for evasion. Many men 
who would have no scruples to take a bribe if reasonably 
sure that they could conceal their crime, would decline 
the money if certain that exposure would follow. Un- 
numbered scoundrels have gone to the Legislature, taken 
bribes, and returned, to their constituents armed with 
plausible explanations of their course on slaughtered rail- 
road bills. At the extra session a man who votes in the 
interest of the Central Pacific Railroad Company will be 
under the necessity of doing it openly, and for reasons 
that none can fail to comprehend. If the people permit 
any of their representatives to betray their interest, and 
remain afterwards in peaceful and healthy enjoyment of 
the wages of their treason, the people will deserve no 
sympathy hereafter when rascals in the Legislature sell 
the rights of their constituents to the corporations. In 
the neighboring state of Nevada, a fyvy years ago, a num- 



ber of legislators who fell under the influence of the rail- 
road lobby were hooted from the state, and hanged in 
effigy. There has been sincere regret throughout that 
commonwealth since that they were not hanged in reality. 

At all the stages of the agitation for an extra session 
there has been observable a tendency on the part of the 
greater portion of the Republican press to frown upon it. 
A large share of this opposition has undoubtedly been 
inspired by the railroad company, but most of it, we are 
willing to believe, has been prompted by a fear that the 
Democrats would gain advantage by making a good fight. 
Partisanship of this sort is exceedingly valuable to Stan- 
ford & Co. There is lots of it in both parties. It is one 
of the heavy curses of the system of government by par- 
ties that each is usually willing an abuse should con- 
tinue to exist rather than that it should be corrected by 
the opposition. Let us hope that the Republican news- 
papers which are not controlled by the railroad will give 
as little as possible of this kind of assistance to the cor- 
poration during the struggle of the extra session. As the 
people, no matter what party they may vote with, are 
robbed impartially by the railroad, the matter of Stopping 
the stealing is the first consideration. The party advan- 
tage to be derived from the work is important to politi- 
cians who are anxious for office, but really to nobody else. 

We have been informed that committees of grangers 
and others will go to the capital to remain during the ses- 
sion, for the purpose of watching over the virtue of the 
Legislature by protecting the members from the seductive 
railroad lobby. We wish we could say that we are con- 
fident this will be done; but we cannot. We fear 
that there are not many citizens earnest enough in their 
desire to serve the common welfare to go to the ex- 
tent of leaving their business for a month or more and 
stay in Sacramento at their own expense. It would be a 
fine thing for the state if a hundred or so of level-headed 
men, resolved to see the people have fair play, could be 
got together there. Certainly such a guard cannot be en- 
listed without systematic action on the part of the Dem- 
ocratic county committees, the State Grange and other 
organizations interested in securing the needed legisla- 
tion. If a people's lobby at Sacramento were assured, 
we would earnestly adv ise that no railroad lobbyist should 
be allowed to stay over night there. It would have a 
valuable moral effect if Mr. W. W. Stow should be com- 
pelled to leave the town on short notice, on pain of being 
ducked in the Sacramento river. There is no sound rea- 
son why this should not be done. His business is as 
well known to the people as that of any professional 
burglar whose picture is in the rogues' gallery is to the 
police; and there should be no more hesitation about 
ordering Mr. W. W. Stowe to move on when he is found 
near the Legislature than the police would have in giving 
the same command to the burglar when detected hover- 
ing in the neighborhood of movable valuables. 

No pa]>er in the state has spoken more severely of Gov- 
ernor Stoneman than we have. It gives us a deep and 
earnest pleasure to say that in calling the Legislature he 
has raised himself greatly in our respect. He has con- 
firmed us in our belief in his honesty, and induced us to 
change our opinion that he is altogether a fool. He has 
done a wise and manly act, which will do him honor 
even though the Legislature should go down under the 
blows of the railroad sack, and drag the Democratic party 
into defeat and infamy with it. 



MARSHALL ON SETTLEMENTS. 

Attorney General Marshall is one of those proud spirits 
that cannot brook contradiction ; consequently, he often 
makes a fool of himself. In a circular letter to the vari- 
ous county treasurers explaining his action in consenting 
to a settlement of the railroad tax cases, he insists that 
the state's right to sue for the penalties, interest and 
attorneys' fees is in now ise abridged, saying that no sane 
man will differ from him. This is equivalent to saying 
that the bar of the state is crowded with lunatics, for 
there are not many lawyers who agree with the Attorney 
General. We have consulted some of the best among 
them, and without exception they have told us that an 
appeal from a judgment by consent is an absurdity. An 
appeal can be taken, of course, but it will not reopen the 
judgment. If the Attorney General had power to con- 
sent to the judgment, that ends the matter, unless it can 
be shown that he exercised his power from corrupt mo- 
tives. Mr. Marshall, however, claims that the money 
handed over by the company was merely a payment on 
account. If strength of language is a proof of sincerity, 
then there can be no doubt that the Attorney General is 
earnest in his belief that he has in no degree lessened the 
chances of the state to^recover the jieiialties, interest and 



attorneys' fees. "What, then," he asks, after having 
stated his case, " becomes of the infamous charge against 
this office, of having given away over a million of dollars 
of the people's money? It is a lie — it is more: it is as 
many lies as there are units in the sum charged to have 
been sacrificed, and each one as black as the hearts in 
whose morbid recesses it was engendered." If there 
lingers a doubt in any man's mind that the Attorney Gen- 
eral is a great lawyer, this profound legal argument ought 
to remove it. 



THE MEN BEHIND THE MASK. 

There has been too much writing and talking in this 
state about the Central Pacific Railroad Company, and 
far too little about the three men who go by that col- 
lective title. Leland Stanford, C. P. Huntington and 
Charles Crocker should be recognized as the force 
that the people have to fight. Their cor|>oratc title has been 
a protecting wall too long. It has clothed them with a 
vague, impersonal vastness that has magnified them into 
shadowy giants, like men walking in a mist. Nobody is 
afraid of them personally. No one of them is so much 
cleverer than common that the people stand in awe of 
him. If any of them had committed a tenth part of 
the crimes individually that the three have collectively, 
the people would have had him in San Ouentin years ago. 
But when money is stolen from a citizen by the Central 
Pacific Railroad Company he feels that it is quite a dif- 
ferent matter from what it would be if Stanford, Hunt- 
ington or Crocker had met him on the highway and 
n il il >ed him. But, in fact, there is no difference whatever. 
These three men have, from their entry into the railroad 
business, as truly robbed the people whose bodies and 
goods they have carried as if they had gone about the 
state, pistol in hand, stopping stages, ditching trains, way- 
laying the lonely traveler and burglarizing the houses of 
rich and poor alike. To charge more than is justly due 
for a service- having power to enforce the charge — is 
theft, as clearly as is any other form of robbery. The 
morality of the act is the same and the loss as actual. 
The difference is merely in the means of compulsion. 
The extorting power of monopoly is as great as that of a 
pistol. Black Bart had as good a title to the money and 
valuables that he got possession of by standing up Wells, 
Fargo & Co.'s stages as his fellow-citizens Stanford, 
Huntington and Crocker have to most of the wealth they 
have exacted from the public. If the same rule of justice 
were applied to them as has been applied to Black Bart, 
they would lie keeping him company in the penitentiary. 

This language sounds harsh, but is il? Do not the facts 
justify it? Is there an intelligent man on the Pacific coast 
who does not believe that these three persons have been 
guilty of scores of felonies, which, had they been com- 
mitted by poor men for smaller prizes, would have been 
followed by prosecution and imprisonment? Who is 
stupid enough to believe that the government and stock- 
holders were not robbed of enormous sums by the Con- 
tract and Finance Company? Is it not repeating the 
self-evident to say that legislation in the people's interest 
has been prevented session after session by bribery; that 
Railroad Commissioners have been similarly paid to deny 
relief from robbery, and that newspapers have been sub- 
sidled to justify these crimes to the public? 

Why should there be any squeamlshness about 
blowing away the corporate mist with which the men 
who have plundered the people, debauched the peo- 
ple's servants and corrupted the press, have sur- 
rounded themselves, and so given a sort of largeness 
and dignity to their crimes which mixes the popular 
anger with awe? If there were more plain speaking, 
there would be fewer evil deeds. Ugly things lose 
much of their ugliness in the eyes of most of us when 
described in fine words. " Diversion of funds " does not 
shock the average moral sense as " stealing " docs ; nor 
"persuasion," "solid reasons," or "caving down the 
bank" as does "bribery." They are the same things; 
but actions, like men, are much improved in appearance 
by good clothes. If the people should get into the habit 
of speaking of the railroad trio as thieves, it would not be 
long before they would treat them as such. Messrs. Stan- 
ford, Huntington and Crocker are clear-headed men, and 
know this; hence the perpetual appeal of their nevvs- 
|ia[>ers that the railroad problem be discussed calmly, 
with careful courtesy and an absence of offensive person- 
ality. It is a shrewd plea. Decided action is apt to fol- 
low upon plain speech. 

The only railroad " problem " that exists in this state 
is: How shall we stop the theft of our property by the 
Central Pacific Railroad Company? The newspapers of 
the corjjoration tell us also that we should approach this 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



9 



problem in a calm, not to say reverential spirit, and be 
particularly cautious not to do an injustice to the com- 
pany in our efforts to get justice for ourselves — which is 
equivalent to asking that we shall be careful not to scratch 
the fingers of a garroter in wrenching them from our 
throat, or not to endanger the bones of a burglar whom 
we find in our dwelling by forcing him to jump from the 
window. 

If there are any who fancy that these comparisons are 
rather strong, they should inform themselves of the fads. 
A few days ago a business man, in casual conversation, 
related to the writer part of his experience with the rail- 
road company. He had a factory on the Oakland side 
of the bay. He was shipping large quantities of raw ma- 
terial from the interior. This material, though of uni- 
form weight and bulk, varied frequently in value. He 
found that the transportation charges varied accordingly. 
He sought the person who has charge of Messrs. Stanford, 
Huntington and Crocker's freight business — oneStubbs — 
and asked why it was that the charge was based on the 
value of the goods, the more costly involving no greater 
expense to haul than the less valuable. He was told 
that it was because the company ran a greater risk. He 
offered to hold them free from all liability for accident or 
loss as insurers if they would give him a uniform rate. It 
was refused, and on being pressed for a reason, Stubbs 
said bluntly that the high-grade material could stand 
more than the low. The manufacturer objected on the 
ground that this made the company a partner in the 
profits of his business; but he had no recourse. A little 
later he had a barge-load of fuel floated down from Sac- 
ramento. An indignant visit from Stubbs followed, and 
the manufacturer was told that unless he handed over 
an amount equal to what he had saved by choosing car- 
riage for his fuel by water instead of by rail, the rates on 
his other freights would be raised until the loss to the 
company had been made good. 

This one instance illustrates the whole business policy 
of the railroad company. . Every shipper is robbed in the 
same way. The pillage stops just short of the point at 
which it would be altogether unendurable and drive the 
shipper out of business. Competition is strangled. 
Merchants are played one against the other and trapped 
into commercial slavery. They are forbidden to employ 
ships to carry their goods, and under penalties are forced 
to deal only with fellow-slaves. A purchase from one 
who has dared to use the ocean subjects the commercial 
serf to the lash. In order to maintain their mastership 
over their fellow-citizens who use their roads, Stanford, 
Huntington and Crocker have found it necessary to set 
up a spy system such as exists in no other part of the 
world, and whose only analogy was the secret police of 
France under the old regime. The railroad detective 
haunts the wharves of all shipping points on the coast, to 
detect any evasion of the rule that no slave shall ship by 
water; the railroad accountant demands access at all 
times to the books of the merchant, upon which as close 
a watch is kept as an employer keeps upon his accounts 
w hen he suspects that his clerks are robbing him. If stung 
by unbearable tyranny to seek the offices of his master to 
make protest, the angry words of the rebel are taken 
down by a screen-concealed phonographer, to be used 
against him in the future as justification for further out- 
rage. 

We arc all working for these three men. There is not 
one of us that is not a loser by their larcenous rule. The 
producer who is robbed passes on as much of his loss as 
he can to the merchant, and the merchant, again, to the 
consumer. Our food, our clothing, our rent — every nec- 
essary — costs us more because Stanford, Huntington and 
Crocker levy a tax on them which they have no more 
right to collect than a grocer who sells us a dollar's worth 
of sugar has a right to [tick our pocket of half a dollar 
when he hands the package over. 

When Stanford, I [untington and Crocker ( ease stealing, 
they will be entitled to the respectful treatment due 
honest men ; when they cease spying and bullying, they 
will not be the objects of the anger which those practices 
excite; when they cease corrupting legislatures, bribing 
Railroad Commissioners and hiring venal newspapers to 
defend their villainies, they will be classed with good citi- 
zens and not with dangerous scoundrels; when they cease 
to claim the right to take other people's money because 
they have the power to extort it, they will be in no dan- 
ger of having their fine feelings hurt by being compared 
to garroters and burglars; — when, in short, they have re- 
moved the causes which make them hated, they will not 
need to walk in nightly fear of the assassin, or dread that 
the corner of Fourth and Townsend streets may become 
the Bastille of a new revolution. 



A SHOCK TO NOB HILL. 

In the first number of this paper we considered our 
Obtrusive friend Jenkins, and rejoiced that some sensible 
ladies, moving in fashionable society at Washington, had 
slammed their doors in his face and forbidden him their 
premises. We said we were sanguine enough to be- 
lieve that it would soon become the thing for everybody 
to kick Jenkins, as the public had grown weary, very 
weary, of reading of the dancings and eatings of no- 
bodies, whose only social merit is that they have managed 
to gel hold of a good deal of money. It is but four 
weeks since we wrote so hopefully of the arrival ol the 
new fashion, yet here comes our corpulent neighbor the 
Argonaut and joins us with husky enthusiasm in poking 
fun at the vulgar rich, whose ambition it is to shine in 
society. 

We do not move in the exalted circles of whic h the 
Argonaut has long been the admiration and delight, and 
cannot say, from actual observation, what effect has been 
produced there by its extraordinary condui t in coming 
over, even for a moment, to keep company with a rude, 
irreverent paper like The San Franciscan, There must 
be consternation and just indignation on Nob Hill. 
Here is a paper that for years has sat humbly on the 
doorsteps of the rich, grateful for whatever alms might be 
thrown to it in the way of food for its news or advertising 
columns; always willing to run errands for its wealthy 
patrons; never failing in respect lor their money; fero- 
ciously eager to prove its devotion to them by shaking its fist 
and roaring at any common person who dared to question 
the privilege of the already rich to make themselves richer 
by plundering their poorer neighbors; which could never 
see wrong in robbery if the robber happened to be not in 
need of the loot ; whose contempt for a poor man was so 
hearty that it disputed his right to reproduce his species ;— 
here is a paper, we say, that has rejoiced as no paper ever 
rejoiced before in being a flunky to wealth, setting up as a 
scoffer at the pretensions ol wealth to social considera- 
tion! It tells us that it laughs when it " recalls what in 
the thirty-five years of residence we have personally gath- 
ered concerning the lives and history of the people who 
are now flourishing in our columns as 'good society,'" 
and that " an awfully funny book would be the faithfully 
detailed narrative of the history of our first families." 
We would as soon have believed that Mr. Thackeray's 
friend, the late Mr. Jeems Vellowplush, could have been 
false to his livery, as that the Argonaut could speak with 
this shocking disrespect of the people on whose bread it 
has grown fat, and to whose" mean ambition and base 
prejudices it has catered to its profit. 

But after astonishing the local aristocracy by telling it 
the undeniable truth that it is a vulgar money-hunting, 
money-worshiping mob, this audacious menial pauses to 
enjoy the amazement on the faces of its friends, and then — 
after smoothing the wrinkles out of its small-clothes, see- 
ing that the gold braid on its jacket is as bright as ever, 
and the corporation cockade in its cap is w here it ought to 
be — it bows respectfully again, and says that in its belief 
society everywhere is composed of vulgar money-hunters 
and money-worshipers; that " the one possessing wealth 
is, by the canons of society, entitled to he on lop. The 
poor are, by the laws of Cod and the universal assent of 
humanity, in all ages and in all countries, at the bottom 
of the social ladder." The local aristocracy, therefore, 
may continue to be vulgar, and hunt and worship money, 
with the Argonaut's permission and approval. 

To be frank, we feel no regret that the Argonaut, after 
having shown that it knows just what the society whose 
deeds Jenkins blazons is worth, should have decided to 
keep on its livery and retain its seat on the doorsteps of 
the people it despises. We feared that we had alarmed 
it into a desire to share the field which we want all to 
ourselves here. Besides, the Argonaut has worn buttons 
so long that it would never feel easy in the garments of 
independence and self-respect. On all accounts, there- 
fore, it is better that it should slay where it is. It is well 
fed, well paid, and is permitted to come into the parlor 
occasionally to amuse the Company. What more can it 
ask? And then, think how dull life would be for the 
Pope's Irish if the Argonaut were no more privileged to 
rush out of Mr. (.'rocker's kitchen to throw an occasional 
bucket of dirty water on them. 

GOOD NEWS FOR NEVADA. 

It has .been telegraphed that Senator Fail has said that 
he would spend half a million to elect Mr. Bayard to the 
Presidency, if that respectable, honest and mediocre gen- 
tleman should get the Democratic nomination. This 
means that Senator Fair would buy the three electoral 



votes of Nevada for him. They were bought for Gi 
Hancock in 1880 with Mr. l air's money. The rhillionai. 
did not spend his cash for General Hancock's sake, how- 
ever, but to elect a Legislature that would send himself to 
the Senate. The electoral ticket was carried along on 
the golden stream that flowed from Mr. Fair's pocket. 
Perhaps if Mr. hair had not been in the field the state 
might have given Hancoc k its votes without coin in re- 
turn, but when a man of Mr. Fair's wealth wanted an 
office the voters of the sagebrush felt that it would jar 
with the political traditions of the commonwealth if he 
were not forc ed to buy the election of the whole ticket. 
Early on elec tion clay the interests of pure l>emocratic 
government were threatened by the Republicans, who 
began paying, in Virginia City and Gold Hill, five dol- 
lars apiece for votes; but the Democracy, bac ked by Mr. 
Fair's money, rallied and routed the party of corruption 
by bidding seven dollars and a half. There can be no 
doubt about how Nevada will go if Senator Lair's candi- 
date for the Presidency gets the nomination, provided the 
hall-mill ion shall be forthcoming. It is a lucky thing for 
candidates in Nevada that the population is small, for 
votes cost more there than in any other state in the Union. 
We have been told on pretty good authority that Indiana 
was wrested from the Democracy and given to Mr. Gar- 
field by the use of two-dollar greenbacks. A Nevada 
voter would scorn anything less than five dollars. He 
has frequently got as high as twenty dollars. No other 
state has ever run the price up to anywhere near the latter 
figure. When the next Republic an Presidential candi- 
date writes to the successor of General Brady to know 
how the departments generally are doing in the way of 
contributing to the corruption fund, he will not calculate 
his chances of getting votes enough on the basis of Ne- 
vada quotations. The iron law of competition has sadly 
depressed the price of the vote of the honest working- 
man in the East. 



SOME GOOD WORK. 



Some things have recently occurred which have raised 
popular respect for the administration of justice in San 
Francisco and its vicinity. The hanging at last of Wheeler, 
the sending of (bay, the thiev ing ex-Secretary of the Har- 
bor Commissioners, to San Quentin, the conviction of 
O'Brien, his assistant, the discouraged confession of 
Ouirk, a third member of the gang, and the punishment 
of I )ods, Oakland's embezzling Treasurer, are among them. 
The fact that all of these culprits are Republicans, and 
that the discovery of their crimes followed the accession 
of the Democratic party to power, shows the wisdom of 
putting one party out and the other in pretty frequently. 
It is demanding too much of human nature to expect any 
political party to uncover its own rascals, but each has 
the motive of self-interest to sharpen its nose for the de- 
tection of the misdeeds of the other. When a Demo- 
cratic President shall be elected and allowed to take his 
seat (a thing that the child now born may possibly see 
for the blundering and timid survivals who now officer 
the party cannot live forever), there will probably be such 
revelations of Republican plundering as will shoc k the 
people into keeping that party out of office for a quarter 
of a century or so, for the improvement of its moral 
health. However disappointing the Demo< ratic adminis- 
tration in this state has been in some respects, it has cer- 
tainly shown commendable energy in sending to jail as 
many Republican predecessors in office as possible. Con- 
troller Dunn, we are glad to see, has begun suit against 
the ex-Harbor Commissioners under whom Gray and the 
rest did their stealing. If it can be clone and there is 
no reason in equity why it should not be they ought to 
be compelled to reimburse the state for the money lost 
to it by the dishonesty ol' their subordinates. If the 
Commissioners had been properly watchful, such plun- 
dering would not have been possible Controller Dunn 
deserves well of the public for the energy with which he 
has guarded their interests in a number of directions, and 

particularly for his active and intelligent work in exposing 

Gray and his band. 



The sort of public spirit which actuates San Francisco 
was strikingly illustrated this week. An extra session of 
the Legislature was called, to consider a question which 
vitally affects the welfare of every man, woman and child 
on the Pacific coast, and the press of the city, with a sin- 
gle exception, dismissed the subject with the most trifling 
mention. A slogging match was arranged between two 
brawny brutes, to which the same press devoted columns 
of space, while upwards of eight thousandjenthusiastic 
citizens encouraged it by their presence, 



IO 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



MISS BARTRAM'S TROUBLE 



I'.V BAVARD TAYLOR. 



It was a day of unusual excitement at the Rambo farm- 
house. On the farm, it is true, all things were in their 
accustomed order, and all growths did their accustomed 
credit to the season. The fences were in good repair; 
the cattle were healthy and gave promise of the normal 
increase, and the young com was neither strangled with 
weeds nor assassinated by cut-worms. Old John Rambo 
was gradually allowing his son Henry to manage in his 
stead, and the latter shrewdly permitted his father to be- 
lieve that he exercised the anc ient authority. Leonard 
Clare, the strong young fellow who had been taken from 
that shiftless adventurer his father when a mere child, 
and brought up almost as one of the family, and who had 
worked as a joiner's apprentice during the previous six 
months, had come back for the harvest work. So the 
Rambos were forehanded, and probably as well satisfied 
as it is possible for Pennsylvania farmers to be. 

In the house, also, Mrs. Prist ilia Rambo was not severely 
haunted by the specter of any neglected duty. The sim- 
ple regular routine of the household could not be changed 
under her charge; each thing had its appropriate order 
of performance, must be done, and was done. If the 
season were backward at the time appointed for white- 
washing or soapmaking, so much the worse for the season ; 
if the unhatched goslings were slain by thunder, she laid 
the blame on the thunder. And if—but no. it is quite 
impossible to suppose that, outside of those two inevitable, 
fearful house-cleaning weeks in each year, there could 
have been any disorder in the cold, prim, varnish-odored 
best rooms, sacred to company. 

It was Miss Hetty Rambo, whose pulse beat some ten 
strokes faster than its wont, as she sat down with the rest 
to their early country dinner. Whether her brother 
Henry's participated in the accelerated movement could 
not be guessed by his demeanor. She glanced at him 
now and then, with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, eager 
to speak, yet shrinking from the half-magisterial air which 
was beginning to supplant hisold familiar banter. I lenry 
was changing with his new responsibility, as she admitted 
to herself with a sort of dismay ; he had the airs of an in- 
dependent farmer, and she remained only a fanner's 
daughter — without any acknowledged rights, until she 
should acquire them all, at a single blow, by marriage. 
Nevertheless, he must have felt what was in her mind, for, 
as he cut out the quarter of a dried-apple pie, he said, 
carelessly : 

" I must go down to the Lion this afternoon. There's 
a fresh drove of Maryland cattle just come." 

"Oh, Harry!" cried Hetty, in real distress. 

"I know," he answered; "but as Miss Hartram is 
going to stay two weeks, she'll keep. She's not like a 
drove, that's here one day, and away the next. Besides, 
it is precious little good I shall have of her society, until 
you two have used up all your secrets and small talk. I 
know how it is with girls. Leonard will drive over to meet 
the train." 

" Won't I do on a pinch? " Leonard asked. 

" Oh, to be sure, ' said Hetty, a little embarrassed, 
"only Alice — Miss Hartram — might expect Harry, be- 
cause her brother came for me when I went up." 

" If that's all, make yourself easy. Bet," Henry an- 
swered, as he rose from the table. "There's a mighty 
difference between hire and there. Unless you mean to 
turn us into a town family while she stays— high quality, 
eh? " 

"Go along to your cattle! there's not much quality, 
high or low, where you are." 

Hetty was indignant; but the annoyance exhausted 
itself healthfully while she was clearing away the dishes 
and restoring the room to its order, so that when Leonard 
drove up to the gate with the lumbering, old-fashioned 
carriage two hours afterward, she came lorth calm, cheer- 
ful, fresh as a pink in her pink muslin, and entirely the 
good, sensible country girl she was. 

Two or three years before, she and Miss Hartram, 
daughter of the distinguished lawyer in the city, had been 
rOOm-mates at the Nereid Seminary for Young Ladies. 
Kach liked the other for the contrast to her own self. 
Hoth were honest, good and lovable, but Hetty had the 
Stronger nerves and a practical sense which seemed to be 
admirable ( ourage in the eyes of Miss Alice, whose in- 
stincts were more delicate, whose tastes were fine and 
high, and who could not conceive of life without certain 
luxurious accessories. A very cordial friendship sprang 
up between them— not the effusive girl-love, with its 
iterative kisses, tears and flow of loosened! hair, but 
springing from the respect inspired by sound and positive 
qualities. 

The winter before Hetty had been invited to visit her 
friend in the city, and had passed a very excited and de- 
lightful week in the stately Hartram mansion. If she 
were at first a little fluttered by the manners of the new 
world, she was intelligent enough to carry her own na- 
ture frankly through it, instead of endeavoring to assume 
its character. Thus her little awkwardnesses became 
originalities, and she was almost popular in the lofty cir- 
cle when she withdrew from it. It was therefore, i>er- 
haps, slightly inconsistent in Hetty that she was not quite 
sure bow Miss Hartram would accept the reverse side of 
this social experience. She imagined it easier to look 
down and make allowances, as a host, than as a guest; 
she could not understand that the charm of the change 
might be fully equal. 

It was lovely weather, as they drove up the sweet, ever- 
changing curves of Brandywine valley. The woods fairly 
laughed in the clear sunlight, and the soft, incessant, 
shifting breezes. Leonard, in his best clothes, and with 
a smoother gloss on his brown hair, sang to himself as he 
urged the strong-boned horses into a trot along the levels; 
and Hetty finally felt so quietly happy that she forgot to 
be nervous. When they reac hed the station they walked 
up and down the long platform together, until the train 
from the city thundered up, and painfully restrained its 



speed. Then Hetty, catching sight of a fawn-colored 
traveling dress issuing from the ladies' car, caught hold of 
Leonard's arm, and cried : " There she is! " 

Miss Hartram heard the words, and looked down with 
a bright, glad expression on her face. It was not her 
beauty that made Leonard's heart suddenly stop beating; 
for she was not considered a beauty, in society. It was 
something rarer than perfect beauty, yet even more diffi- 
cult to describe— a serene, unconscious grace, a pure, 
lofty maturity of womanhood, such as our souls bow down 
to in the Santa Barbara of Palma Vecchio. Her features 
were not "faultlessly regular," but they were informed 
with the finer harmonies of her character. She was a 
woman, at whose feet a noble man might kneel, lay his 
forehead on her knee, confess his sins, and be pardoned. 

She stepped down to the platform, and Hetty's arms 
were about her. After a double embrace she gently dis- 
engaged herself, turned to Leonard, gave him her hand, 
and said, with a smile which was delightfully frank and 
cordial: "I will not wait for Betty's introduction, Mr. 
Rambo. She has talked to me so much of her brother 
Harry, that I quite know you already." 

Leonard could neither withdraw his eyes nor his hand. 
It was like a double burst of warmth and sunshine, in 
which his breast seemed to expand, his stature to grow, 
and his whole nature to throb with some new and won- 
derful force. A faint color came into Miss Hartram 's 
cheeks, as they stood thus, for a moment, face to face. 
She seemed to be waiting for him to speak, but of this he 
never thought; had any words come to his mind, his 
tongue could not have uttered them. 

" It is not Harry," Hetty explained, striving to bide her 
embarrassment. " This is Leonard Clare, who lives with 
us." 

"Then I do not know you so well as I thought," Miss 
Hartram said to him ; " it is the beginning of a new ac- 
quaintance, after all." 

"There isn't no harm done," Leonard answered, and 
instantly feeling the awkwardness of the words, blushed 
so painfully that Miss Bart ram felt the inadequacy of her 
social tact to relieve so manifest a case of distress. But 
she did, instinctively, what was really best : she gave 
Leonard the check for her trunk, divided her satchels 
with Betty, and walked to the carriage. 

He did not sing, as he drove homewards down the val- 
ley. Seated on the trunk, in front, he quietly governed 
the horses, while the two girls, on the seat behind him, 
talked constantly and gaily. Only the rich, steady tones 
of Miss Hartram 's voice would make their way into his 
ears, and every light, careless sentence printed itself u|xm 
his memory. They came to him as if from some inacces- 
sible planet. Poor fellow ! he was not the first to feel 
" the desire of the moth for the star." 

When they reached the Rambo farm-house, it was 
necessary that he should give his hand to help her down 
from the clumsy carriage. He held it but a moment ; 
yet in that moment a gentle pulse throbbed upon his hard 
palm, and he mechanically set his teeth, to keep down 
the impulse which made him wild to hold it there forever. 
" Thank you, Mr. Clare! " said Miss Hartram, and passed 
into the house. When he followed presently; shoulder- 
ing her trunk into the upper best-room, and kneeling 
upon the floor to unbuckle the straps, she found herself 
wondering; "Is this a knightly service, or the menial 
duty of a porter? Can a man be both sensitive and 
ignorant, chivalrous and vulgar? " 

The question was not so easily decided, though no one 
guessed how much Miss Hartram pondered it during the 
succeeding days. She insisted from the first that her 
coming should make no change in the habits of the 
household; she rose in the cool, dewy summer days, 
dined at noon in the old brown room beside the kitchen, 
and only differed from the Rambos in sitting at her 
moon-lit window, anil breathing the subtile odors of a 
myriad leaves, long after Hetty was sleeping the sleep of 
health. 

It was strange how frequently the strong, not very 
graceful figure of Leonard Clare man bed through these 
reveries. She occasionally spoke to him at the common 
table, or as she passed the borders of the hay-field, where 
he and Henry were at work ; but his words to her were 
always few and constrained. What was there in his eyes 
that haunted her? Not merely a most reverent admira- 
tion of her pure womanly refinement, although she read 
that also; not a fear of disparagement, such as his awk- 
ward speech implied, but something which seemed to 
seek agonizingly for another language than that of the 
lips — something which appealed to her from equal ground, 
and asked for an answer. 

One evening she met him in the lane, as she returned 
from the meadow. She carried a bunch of flowers, with 
delicate blue and lilac bells, and asked him the name. 

"Them's Brandywine cowslips," he answered; "I 
never heard no other name." 

" May I correct you? " she said, gently, and with smile 
which she meant to be playful. " I suppose the main 
thing is to speak one's thought, but there are neat and 
orderly ways, and there are careless ways." Thereupon 
she pointed out the inaccuracies of his answer, he stand- 
ing beside her, silent and attentive. When she ceased, 
he did not immediately reply. 

" You will take it in good part, will you not? " she con- 
tinued. " I ho))C I have not offended you." 
• " No! " he exclaimed, firmly, lifting his head and look- 
ing at her. The inscrutable expression in his dark gray 
eyes was stronger than before, and all his features were 
more clearly drawn. He reminded her of a picture of 
Adam which she had once seen : there was the same 
rather low forehead, straight, even brows, full yet strong 
mouth, and that broader form of chin which repeats and 
balances the character of the forehead. He was not posi- 
tively handsome, but from head to foot he expressed a 
fresh, sound quality of manhood. 

Another question flashed across Miss Bart/am 's mind : 
Is life long enough to transform this clay into marble? 
Here is a man in form, and with all the dignity of the 
perfect masculine nature : shall the broad, free intelli- 
gence, the grace and sweetness, the taste and refinement, 



which the best culture gives, never be his also? If not, 
woman must be content with faulty representations of her 
ideal. 

So musing, she walked on to the farm-house. Leonard 
had picked up one of the blossoms she had let fall, and 
appeared to be curiously examining it. If he had apolo- 
gized for his want of grammar, or promised to reform it, 
her interest in him might have diminished; but his 
silence, his simple, natural obedience to some powerful 
inner force, whatever it was, hcl|»ed to strengthen that 
phantom of him in her mind, which was now beginning 
to be a serious trouble. 

Once again, the day before she left the Rambo farm- 
house to return to the city, she came upon him, alone. 
She had wandered off to the Brandywine, to gather ferns 
at a rocky point where some choice varieties were to be 
found. There were a few charming clumps, half-way up 
a slaty cliff, which it did not seem possible to scale, and 
she was standing at the base, looking up in vain longing, 
when a voice, almost at her ear, said: 

" Which ones do you want?" 

Afterward, she wondered that she did not start at the 
voice. Leonard had come up the road from one of the 
lower fields; he wore neither coat nor waistcoast, and his 
shirt, open at the throat, showed the firm, beautiful white 
of the flesh below the strong tan of his neck. Miss 
Hartram noticed the sinewy strength and elasticity of his 
form, yet when she looked again at the ferns, she shook 
her head, and answered : 

" None, since I cannot have them." 

Without saying a word, he took off his shoes, and com- 
menced climbing the nearly perpendicular face of the 
cliff. He had done it before, many a time ; but Miss 
Hartram, although she was familiar with such exploits 
from the pages of many novels, had never seen the reality, 
and it quite took away her breath. 

When he descended with the ferns in his hand, she 
said: "It was a great risk; 1 wish 1 had not wanted 
them." 

" It was no risk for me," he answered. 

" What can I send you in return?" she asked, as they 
walked forward. " I am going home to-morrow." 

"Betty told me," Leonard said; "please wait one 
minute.' 

He Stepped down to the bank of the stream, washed 
his hands carefully in the clear water, and back to her, 
holding them, (happing, at his sides. 

"Iam very ignorant," he then continued— " ignorant 
and rough. You are good, to want to send me some- 
thing, but I want nothing. Miss Hartram, you are very 
good." 

He paused ; but with all hertact and social e.x])ericncc, 
she did not know what to say. 

" Would you do one little thing for me — not for the 
ferns, that was nothing — no more than you do, without 
thinking, for all your friends?" 

" Oh, surely!" she said. 

" Might I— might I— now (there'll be no chance to- 
morrow) shake hands with you?" 

The words seemed to be forced from him by the strength 
of a fierce will. Hoth Stopped involuntarily. 

" It's quite dry, you see," said he, offering his hand. 
Her own sank upon it, palm to palm, and the fingers 
softly closed over each, as if with the passion and sweet- 
ness of a kiss. Miss Hartram 's heart came to her eyes, 
and read, at last, the question in Leonard's. It was: "I 
as man and you as woman are equals; will you give me 
time to reach you?" What her eyes replied she knew not. 
A mighty influence drew her on, and a mighty doubt and 
dread restrained her. One said : " Here is your lover, 
your husband, your cherished [«rtner, left by fate below 
your station, yet whom you may lift to your side! Shall 
man, alone, crown the humble maiden — stoop to love, 
and, loving, ennoble? Be you the queen, and love him 
by the royal right of womanhood!" Hut the other sternly 
whis|ierea: " How shall your fine and delicate fibers be 
knit into this coarse texture? Ignorance, which years 
cannot wash away — low instincts, what do_iw/ know? — all 
the servile side of life, which is turned from you — what 
madness to choose this, because some current of earthly 
magnetism sets along your nerves? He loves you : what 
of that? You are a higher being to him, and he stupidly 
adores you. Think— yes, dare to think ot all the prosaic 
realities of life, shared with him!" 

Miss Hartram felt herself growing dizzy. Behind the 
impulse which bade her cast herself upon nis breast swept 
such a hot wave of shame and pain tnat her face burned, 
and she dropped her eyelids to shut out the sight of his 
face. Hut, for one endless second, the sweeter voice 
s|joke through their clasped hands. Perhaps he kissed 
hers; she did not know; she only heard herself murmur: 

" Good-bye! Pray go on ; I will rest here." 

She sat down upon a bank by the roadside, turned away 
her head, and closed her eyes. It was long before the 
tumult in her nature subsided. If she reflected, with a 
sense of relief, " nothing was said," the thought immedi- 
ately followed, " but all is known." It was impossible — 
yes, clearly impossible; and then came such a wild long- 
ing, such an assertion of the right and truth and justice 
of love, as made her seem a miserable coward, the veriest 
slave of conventionalities. 

Out of this struggle dawned self-knowledge, and the 
strength which is born of it. When she returned to the 
house she was pale and weary, but capable of res|K>nding 
to Hetty Rambo 's constant cheerfulness. The next day 
she left for the city, without having seen Leonard Clare 



Henry Rambo married, and brought a new mistress to 
the farm-house. Betty married, and migrated to a new 
home in another |Kirt of the state. Leonard Clare went 
back to his trade, and returned no more in harvest-time. 
So the pleasant farm by the Brandywine, having served 
its purpose as a background, will be seen no more in this 
history. 

Miss Bartram's inmost life, as a woman, was no longer 
the same. The point of view trom which she had beheld 
the world was snifted, and she was obliged to remodel 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



IT 



all her feelings and ideas to conform to it. Blit the 
process was gradual, and no one stood near enough to her 
to remark it. She was occasionally suspected of the " ec- 
centricity" which, in a woman of five-and-twcnty, is 
looked upon as the first symptom of a tendency to old- 
maidenhood, but which is really the sign of an earnest 
heart struggling with the questions of life. In the society 
of cities, most men give only the shallow, flashy surface 
of their natures to the young women they meet, and Miss 
Bart ram, after that revelation of the dumb Strength of an 
ignorant man, sometimes grew very impatient of the plati- 
tudes and affectations which came to her clad in elegant 
words and accompanied by irreproachable manners. 

She had various suitors ; for that sense of grace and re- 
pose and sweet feminine power, which hung around her 
like an atmosphere, attracted good and true men toward 
her. To some indeed she gave that noble, untroubled 
friendship which is always possible between the best of 
the two sexes, and when she was compelled to deny the 
most intimate appeal, it was done with such frank sor- 
row, such delicate tenderness, that she never lost the 
friend in losing the lover. Hut, as one year after another 
went by, and the younger members of her family fell off 
into their separate domestic orbits, she began to shrink a 
little at the pcrsceptive of a lonely life, growing lonelier as 
it receded from the Present. 

By this time 1 .eonard Clare had become almost a dream 
to her. She had neither seen him nor heard of him since 
he let go her hand on that memorable evening beside the 
stream. He was a strange, bewildering chance — a cypher 
concealing a secret which she could not intelligently read. 
Why should she keep the memory of that jxjwer which 
was, perhaps, some unconscious quality of his nature (no, 
it was not so! something deeper than reason cried), or 
long since forgotten, if felt, by him? 

The man whom she most esteemed came back to her. 
She knew the ripeness and harmony of his intellect, the 
nobility of his character, and the generosity of a feeling 
which would be satisfied with only a partial return. She 
felt sure, also, that she should never possess a sentiment 
nearer to love than which pleaded his cause in her heart. 
But her hand lay quiet in his, her pulses were calm when 
he spoke, and his face, manly and true as it was, never in- 
vaded her dreams. All questioning was vain ; her heart 
gave no solution of the riddle. Perhaps her own want 
was common to all lives; then she was cherishing a 
selfish ideal, and rejecting the positive good offered to her 
hands. 

After long hesitation she yielded. The predictions of 
society came to naught ; instead of becoming an eccentric 
spinster, Miss Bartram was annouced to be the affianced 
bride of Mr. Lawrie. A few weeks and months rolled 
around, and when the wedding-day came, she almost 
hailed it as the port of refuge, where she should find a 
placid and peaceful life. 

They were married by an aged clergyman, a relative of 
the bridegroom. The cross-street where his chapel stood, 
fronting a Methodist church — both of the simplest form 
of that architecture fondly supposed to be Gothic — was 
quite blocked up by the carnages of the party. The 
pews were crowded with elegant guests, the altar was 
decorated with flowers, and the ceremony lacked nothing 
of its usual solemn beauty. The bride was pale, but 
strikingly calm and self-possessed, and when she moved 
towards the door as Mrs. Lawrie, on her husband's arm, 
many matrons, recalling their own experience, marveled 
at her unflurried dignity. 

Just as they, passed out the door, and the bridal car- 
riage was summoned, a singular thing happened. An- 
other bridal carriage drew up from the opposite side, and 
a newly wedded pair came forth from the portal of the 
Methodist church. Both parties stopped, face to face, 
divided only by the narrow street. Mrs. Lawrie first 
noticed the flushed cheeks of the other bride, her white 
dress, rather showy than elegant, and the heavy gold or- 
naments she wore. Then she turned to the bridegroom. 
He was tall and well-formed, dressed like a gentleman 
but like one who is not yet unconscious of his dress, and 
had the air ot a man accustomed to exercise some au- 
thority. 

She saw his face, and instantly all other faces disap- 
peared. Prom the opposite brink of a tremendous gull 
she looked into his eyes, and their blended ray of love 
and despair pierced her to the heart. There was a roaring 
in her ears, followed by a long sighing sound, like that of 
the wind on some homeless waste; she leaned more 
heavily on her husband's arm, leaned against his 
shoulder, slid slowly down into his supporting clasp, 
and knew no more. 

III. 

Ten years afterwards, Mrs. Lawrie went on board a 
steamer at Southampton, bound for New York. She 
was traveling alone, having been called suddenly from 
Europe by the approaching death of her aged father. 
For two or three clays after sailing, the thick, rainy spring 
weather kept all below, except a few hardy gentlemen 
who crowded together on the lee of the smoke stack, and 
kept up a stubborn cheerfulness on a very small capital of 
comfort. There were few cabin-passengers on board, 
but the usual crowd of emigrants in the steerage. 

Mrs. Lawrie 's face had grown calmer and colder dur- 
ing these years. There was yet no gray in her hair, no 
w rinkles about her clear eyes ; each feature appeared to 
be the same, but the pale, monotonous color which had 
replaced the warm blood of her youth, gave them a dif- 
ferent character. The gracious dignity of her manner, 
the mellow tones of her voice, still expressed her un- 
changing goodness, yet those who met her were sure to 
feel, in some inexplicable way, that to be good is not al- 
ways to be happy. Perhaps, indeed, her manner was 
older than her face and form ; she still attracted the in- 
terest of men, but with a certain doubt and reserve. 

Certain it is that when she made her appearance on 
deck, glad of the blue sky and sunshine, and threw back 
her hood to feel the freshness of the sea air, all eves fol- 
lowed her movements, except those of a forlorn individual, 
who, muffled in his cloak and apparently sea-sick, lay 



upon one of the benches. The captain presently joined 
her, and the gentlemen saw that she was bright and |>er- 
fectly sclf-|K>sscssed in conversation ; some of them imme- 
diately resolved to achieve an acquaintance. The dull, 
passivelexistence of the beginning of every voyage, seemed 
to be now at an end. It was time for the little society of 
the vessel to awake, stir itself, and organize a life of its 
own, for the few remaining days. 

That night as Mrs. l.awriewas sleeping in her berth, 
she suddenly awoke with a singular feeling of dread ami 
suspense. She listened silently, but for some time distin- 
guished none other than the small sounds of night on ship- 
board the indistinct orders, the dragging of ropes, the 
creaking of timbers, the dull, regular jarof the engine, and 
the shuttling noise of feet overhead. Put, ere long, she 
seemed to catch faint, distant sounds, that seemed like 
cries; then came hurry and confusion on deck; then 
voices in the .cabin, one of which said : " They never can 
get it under at this rate !" 

She rose, dressed herself hastily, and made her way 
through pale and excited Stewards, and the bewildered 
passengers who were beginning to rush from the stale- 
rooms, to the deck. In the wild tumult which prevailed 
she might have been thrown down and trampled under 
foot, had not a strong arm seized her around the waist, 
and borne her toward the stern, where there were but few- 
persons. 

" W ait here!" said a voice, and her protector plunged 
into the crowd. 

She saw instantly the terrible fate which had fallen 
upon the vessel. The bow was shrouded in whirls of 
smoke, through which dull red flashes began to show 
themselves ; and all the length and breadth of the deck 
was filled with a screaming, struggling, lighting mass of 
desperate human beings. She saw the captain, officers 
and a few of the crew working in vain against the disorder ; 
she saw the boats filled before they were lowered, and 
heard the shrieks as they were capsized ; she saw spars and 
planks and benches cast overboard, and maddened men 
plunging after them; and then, like the sudden opening 
of the mouth of Hell, the relentless, triumphant fire burst 
through the forward deck and shot up to the foreyard. 

She was leaning against the mizv.cn shrouds, between 
the coils of rope. Nobody appeared to notice her, al- 
though the quarter-deck Was fast filling with persons driven 
back by the lire, yet still shrinking from the terror and 
uncertainty of the sea. She thought : "It is but death — 
why should I fear? The waves are at hand, to save me 
from all suffering." And the collective horror of hun- 
dreds of beings did not overwhelm her as she had both 
fancied and feared ; the tragedy of each individual life 
was lost in the confusion, and was she not a sharer in their 
doom ? 

Suddenly a man stood before her with a cork life-pre- 
server in his hands, and buckled it around her securely, 
under her arms. He was panting and almost exhausted, 
yet he strove to make his voice firm, and even cheerful, as 
he said : 

" We fought the cowardly devils as long as there was 
any hope. Two boats are off, and two capsized ; in ten 
minutes more every soul must take to the water. Trust 
to me, and I will save you or die with you!" 

" What else can I do? " she answered. 

With a few powerful strokes of an axe, he broke off the 
top of the pilot-house, bound two or three planks to it 
with ropes, and dragged the mass to the bulwarks. 

"The minute this goes," he then said to her, "you go 
after it, and 1 follow. Keep still when you rise to the 
surface." 

She left the shrouds, look hold of the planks at his side, 
and they heaved the rude raft into the sea. In an instant 
she was seized and whirled over the side ; she instinctively 
held her breath, felt a shock, felt herself swallowed up in 
an awful, fathomless coldness, and then found herself 
floating below the huge. towering hull which slowly drifted 
away. 

In another moment there was one at her side. "Pay 
your hand on my shoulder," he said; and when she did 
so they swam for the raft, which they soon reached. While 
she supported herself by one of the planks he so arranged 
and bound together the pieces of timber that in a short 
time they could climb upon them and rest, not much 
washed by the waves. The ship drifted further and 
further, casting a faint, though awful, glare over the sea, 
until the light was suddenly extinguished, as the hull 
sank. 

The dawn was in the sky by this time, and as it broad- 
ened they could see faint specks here and there, where 
others, like themselves, clung to drifting spars. Mrs. 
Lawrie shuddered with (old and the reaction from an ex- 
citement which had been far more powerful than she 
knew at the time. 

Her preserver then took off his coat, wrapped it around 
her, and produced a pocket-flask, saying: " This will 
support us the longest; it is all I could find or bring with 
me." 

She sat leaning against his shoulder, though partly 
turned away from him. All she could say was : " You 
are very good." 

After awhile he spoke, and his voice seemed changed 
to her ears. " You must be thinking of Mr. Pawrie. It 
will, indeed, be terrible for him to hear ol the disaster 
before knowing that you are saved." 

"God has spared him that distress," she answered. 
" Mr. Pawrie died a year ago." 

She felt a start in the strong frame upon which she 
leaned. Altera few minutes ol silence, he slowly shifted 
his position towards her, yet still without facing her, and 
said, almost in a whis|>cr: 

" You have said that I am very good. Will you put 
your hand in mine? " 

She stretched hers eagerly and gratefully towards him. 
What has happened ? Through all the numbness of her 
blood there sprang a strange new warmth from his strong 
palm, and a pulse, which she had almost forgotten as a 
dream of the past, began to beat through her frame. She 
turned around all a-tremble, and saw his face in the glow 
of the coming day. 



" Leonard Clare ! " she cried. 

"Then you have not forgotten me! " 

" Could one forget, when the other remembers? " 

Tin- words came involuntarily from her hps. She felt 
what they implied, the moment afterwards, and said no 
mote. But he kept her hand in his. 

" Mrs. Pawrie,' he began, after another silence. " we 
are hanging by a hair on the edge of life, but I shall 
gladly let that hair break, since I may tell you now, purely 
and in the hearing of God, how I have tried to rise to you 
out of the low place in which you found me. At first 
you seemed too far; but you yourself led me the first step 
of the way, and I have steadily kept my eyes on you, and 
followed it. When I had learned my trade 1 came to 
the city. No labor was too hard for me, no study too 
difficult. I was becoming a new man, 1 saw all that was 
still lac king, and how to reach it, and I watc hed you, un- 
known, at a distance. Then I heard of your engagement I 
you were lost, and something of what I had begun to 
dream became insanity, [determined to trample it out 
of my life. The daughter of the master-builder, whose 
first assistant I was, had always favored me in her society ; 
and I soon persuaded her to love me. I fancied, too, 
that 1 loved her as most married men seemed to love their 
wives; the union would advance me to a partnership in 
her father's business, and my fortune would then be se- 
cured. You know what happened; but you do not know 
how the sight of your face planted the old madness again 
in my life, and made me a miserable husband, a misera- 
ble man of wealth, almost a scoffer at the knowledge I 
had acquired for your sake. 

" When my wife died, taking an only child with her, 
there was nothing left to me except the mechanical am- 
bition to make myself, without you, what I imagined I 
might have become, through you. I have studied and 
traveled, lived alone and in society, until your world 
seemed to be almost mine : but you were not there!" 

The sun had risen, while they sat, rocking on their 
frail support. Her hand still lay in his, and her head 
rested on his shoulder. Every word he spoke sank into 
her heart with a solemn sweetness, in which her whole 
nature was silent and satisfied. Why should she speak ? 
i Ie knew all. 

Yes, it seemed that he knew. His arm stole around 
her, and her head was drawn from his shoulder to the 
warm breadth of his breast. Something hard pressed her 
cheek, and she lifted her hand to move it aside. He 
drew forth a flat medallion case; and to the unconscious 
question in her face, suc h a sad, tender smile came to his 
hps that she could not repress a sudden pain. Was it the 
miniature of his dead wife? 

He opened the case, and showed her, under the glass, 
a faded, pressed flower. 

" What is it? " she asked. 

"The Brandywine cowslip you dropped when you 
spoke to me in the lane. Then it was that you showed 
me the first step of the way." 

She laid her head again upon his bosom. Hour after 
hour they sat, and the light swells of the sea heaved them 
aimlessly to and fro, and the sun burned them, and the 
spray drenched their limbs. At last Leonard Clare 
roused himself and looked around; he felt numb and 
cold, and he saw, also, that her strength was rapidly 
failing. 

" We cannot live much longer, I fear," he said, clasp- 
ing her closely in her arms. " Kiss me once, darling, 
and then we will die." 

She clung to him and kissed him. 

"There is life, not death, in your lips!" he cried. 
" Oh, God, if we should live ! " 

" He rose painfully to his feet, stood, tottering, on the 
raft, and looked across the waves. Presently he began 
to tremble, then to sob like a child, and at last spoke, 
though his tears : 

" A sail ! a sail !— and heading toward us! " 



MARY ANDERSON'S FIRST LESSON. 



( leorge Vandenhof the elder gave me a graphic account 
of his first interview with Mary Anderson. She was 
dressed in simple black, and her mother and stepfather 
accompanied her. 

"Mr. Vandenhof," said she, "I have made up my 
mind to go on the stage, and 1 want some lessons in elo- 
cution." Then she added, most unfortunately, " I will 
repay you with the fruits of my genius." 

"Madam," said the irate professor of rhetoric, "my 
terms are $50 for ten lessons, 111 advance." 

This effectually suspended negotiations for awhile 
The future tragedienne went off angry, but none the less 
determined, and soon returned fortified with the neces- 
sary check. 

" With many sacrifices," she said, grandly, " I have 
raised the money; now, if you please, I am ready to 
begin." 

" Oh, very well, then," snarled Vandenhof. "Read 
something — anything." 

She c hose for her trial piece the opening soliloquy in 
" Richard IIP," and though she read the lines with some 
crude |K)wer, she mouthed and ranted terribly. 

" Avoid it! avoid it!" shrieked Vandenhof, with his 
fingers in his ears; "it's bad, very bad. My dear 
girl," he said more kindly, after he had recovered his 
composure, " 111 give you some advice gratis. You had 
better go back to Kentucky and try something else. I'm 
afraid acting isn't your trade." 

" I thought you said your terms were $50 in advance." 

And as she said these words she drew herself up with 
all the majestic pride of a Siddons or a Rachael. 

"Fgad!" said the old veteran, scratching his head, 
" so 1 did. And confound me if I don't like your 
pluck." 

The old man gave her the best of instructions as long 
she would remain with him, and at the end of the time 
sent her off with his blessing and an injunction not to 
rant. — Cor. New York News. 



I 2 



AT THE CLUB. 



HY DAN OVONNKI.I.. 



In (lowing robes, wilh gracious mien, 
Her broad, smooth brow uplifted quite, 

Kair Truth once to the club strode in, 
All conscious of her regal might. 

" For here," the argued, "all will know 
My presence and my queenly claim, 

And nail the lie my slanderers say- 
That Truth is nothing but a name." 

Her lips were ripe and red ; her eyes 

Were diamond bright; each (lowing tress 
A fragrance breathed. Ah, who indeed 

Could gaze, nor long for one caress! 
Her limbs so round, so full of grace; 

Her hand so soft and warm and nice; 
The man who'd falter to embrace 

Must be indeed a man of ice. 

Methinks the moist, sweet mouth might well 

Woo error from its worshipers. 
All verse of mine would fail to tell 

The gracious beauties that were hers. 
She passed the door; the steward bowed; 

He knew her not— he called her "ma'am; " 
She mingled wilh the chattering crowd 

And paused beside young Harry Dam. 

The words from Harry's mouth flowed smooth 

Of how last week the "Gov." and he 
Sat up all night in grave debate 

[f extra session were to be. 
" ' Take my advice,' I cried " quoth Dam, 

'"And call one. just to end this rush.' 
" ' For your sake, yes,' said Stoneman." Here 

Fair Truth bent low to hide a blush. 

" S'i young, so very young," she wailed, 

"And yet so, very full of guile! 
He may have known me once" — here Truth 

On Harry ventured just one smile. 
The bold bad boy gazed in her eyes — 

Her kind, bright eyes, with sorrow rife — 
And murmured, " I have never seen 

This female during all my life." 

Truth moved away. A martial man 

\\ ith grim fierce air, who smelt of blood 
And powder-smoke, in a stern pose " 

Beside a billiard-table stood. 
He grasried an ivory sphere. Quoth he, 

"Would these were round-shot, and I led 
A charge to capture some redoubt, 

While iron whistled round my head. 

"Oh, give me war — fierce, ruthless war! 

Of peace I sicken every day. 
Give me the rout, while warriors shout 

'A Turnbull, ho! to lead the way! '" 
Truth heard the wish, and drop]>cd her vail. 

" No use," she said, " to speak ; for he, 
I know from his blood-curdling tale, 

Has never heard of mine or me." 

In one brief hour she learned how vain 

Her search for loyal subjects; each 
She stood before, her face denied 

By gesture, sentiment and speech. 
At cards falsu points were claimed; the air 

Was redolent of false cigars; 
And false musicians badly sang 

False notes to falsely rendered bars. 

Men wore false teeth, false ties, false shirts — 
Prepared false stories for their wives; 

And falsehood everywhere seemed part 

And parcel of their daily lives. 
'Truth turned away; but gladness filled 

Once more her sad eyes. " Ah," she cried, 
" Here's one at least who's true lo me — 

One worshqier who never lied ! 

" Farewell, ye false! come hither, thou; 
'Take thy reward, O faithful child! 

0 strange, among so many, thou 
Of all, alone art undeliled!" 

Her arms about his neck she clasped, 
Upon his heart her brows incline; 

1 hardly like to tell the rest, 

Because — because that heart was mine. 



THE TWADDLER. 



A most deplorable accident happened my friend the 
Call's Trifler last week. For a man of his age and ex- 
perience, he's the most remarkable epicure 1 ever knew. 
He ruins his eyes by burning the midnight oil over cook- 
books and the French dictionary. We were sitting to- 
gether at the Casino, and the Triller was exhausted, 
having, as usual, worn himself out complaining of the 
menu and cursing the waiter. 

" Have you such a thing as a champignon in your 
beastly house?" asked my friend, and I confess I couldn't 
but admire the savoir-faire of the man. For chit, give 
me the Trifler. 

" We 'ave, sir," said the waiter. " Will you 'avesome, 
too, sir?" 

" No, you blackguard," says I, fiercely, not to be out- 
done in aristocratic style by my friend; " no mushrooms 
for me." 

Well, the Trifler had his champignons, and protested 
that he'd never eaten better. " They're the real thing, 
Persiflage," said he. " Mushrooms like these never grow 
out of a cellar." 

But I refused; and, egad! I thank a watchful Provi- 
d ce that I did, for just as my friend had cursed the 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



waiter because the cognac wouldn't burn on his coffee, he 
turned deathly pale and ran for the door. 

It turned out that the Trifler, with all his epicurean 
knowledge, had let the hostile waiter dose him with toad- 
stools. He kept his bed for three days. 1 remember 
that my old friend Colonel Cremony — God rest him, 
poor fellow !— came near being killed in the same way. 



I got off a monstrously good thing on Vallejo the other 
day. I was up there visiting a high official at the Navy 
Yard, who's a great friend of mine, and we dined at a 
restaurant. The officer's wife has conceived an absurd 
prejudice against me— actually speaks of me as a vulgar 
old beast— and her husband, who's the best of fellows, 
but a little chicken-livered w hen it comes to holding his 
own in the domestic circle, hasn't the pluck to take me 
home with him. That's why we dined at the restaurant. 
1 was greatly amused at the efforts of my gallant friend to 
conceal from me his reason for not taking me to the family 
table. Vallejo is a town that any man of fashion must 
detest, and my dislike for it is extreme. There were a 
lot of the leading citizens sitting at tables near us, and 
my friend the officer introduced me to a number of them. 

" What'll you have?" asks the waiter; and he ran over 
his list, the last item being roast duck. 

" 1 lave you really got a roast duck?" says I, with feigned 
surprise, and keeping the corner of my eye on the leading 
citizens* 

" W e have, sir," says the waiter. 

" Killed here?" 

" Yes, sir." 

"Shot?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" Was it shot flying or sitting?" 
" Flying, I suppose, sir." 

" Then," cries I, so that everybody in the place could 
hear, " bring me that duck. The poor thing was trying 
to get away from this dashed town, and by heavens I'll 
do an act of charity and help it to do so !" 

My naval friend, whose sense of humor is not great, 
got red in the face and looked distressed. As for the 
leading citizens, you should have seen them! But the 
angrier they looked the louder 1 talked, and by the time 
1 had packed the duck behind my vest, 1 never saw a 
more humiliated set of men. 



While sitting in the box at the Baldwin with my dis- 
tinguished friend Count de Tocqueville the other even- 
ing, listening to my charming little acquaintance Emma 
Abbott sing, 1 suddenly put up my gloved hand to my 
lips and laughed behind it. 

" My dear Persiflage," said the Count, who's devilish 
fond of a joke, and understands them surprisingly well 
for a nobleman, " what the doose has got into you now? " 

Then 1 told him about the dinner that my fellow 
litterateur Mike de Young gave to Miss Abbott on her 
arrival. Michael is trying hard to be one of us, and I 
hope good society will not always turn the cold shoulder 
On him. 

" Mr. De Young," said Miss Abbott, who was like a 
lonely bouquet at the table, " Mr. De Young," she said, 
putting her hand on the arm of Mike's swallow-tail, and 
smiling at him divinely, "I am told that you are the lead- 
ing musical critic of San Francisco." 

" Well, ah," said my friend De Young, swelling w ith 
pleasure, though he knows no more about music than a 
midnight cat, "one of 'em, Miss Abbott; one of 'em." 

" Mike's a pretty hard load to carry," was what the 
Count wittily observed when he had recovered from the 
suffocating mirth into which my anecdote had thrown 
him. 

My friend Kalakaua of the Sandwich Islands is a pretty 
shrewd sort of man, for a king, but if my old comrade 
Paul Neumann— so felicitously illustrated in The San 
Franciscan last week — who's His Majesty's right-hand 
man now, I believe, doesn't bring suit for damages for 
something or other one of these days and recover the 
whole Hawaiian group I shall be surprised. It was 
Paul's good fortune to lose a leg early in life. The cork 
one substituted for it worked so perfectly that in course 
of time everybody forgot that it wasn't the genuine thing. 
One night when Paul had been out with the boys in Vir- 
ginia City he took it into his hot head to have a drive. 
While spinning along behind his livery team, my friend 
Neumann tried to cross the railroad track before a loco- 
motive, and got knocked out. Both the horses were 
killed, the carriage smashed to splinters, and Paul had to 
hop around on his remaining foot and pick up the frag- 
ments of his cork leg. He crawled into town, took to 
bed, and in due time showed up on the streets on 
crutches. Then he brought suit against the railroad com- 
pany for heavy damages for cutting off his leg. He 
didn't mention in his complaint that it was only a cork 
one he had lost, and the Nevada railroad company 
knew nothing of that fact. So they compromised for a 
small fortune. The livery man sued him for the loss of 
his horses and carriage, but he didn't know Paul. My 
enterprising friend immediately brought an action against 
the livery man for hiring him a dangerous team, and I 
don't know how much money the jury gave him, but it 
was enough to ruin the horse-letting vulgarian. 

Persiflage. 



THE RAILROAD PUZZLE. 



I notice that my favorite journal, the New York Ac- 
tion, is troubled in its clever intellect over the Reagan 
bill to regulate internal commerce. Mr. Codkin, able 
editor, is alarmed at the thought of Congress's attempting 
to interfere with private property by striving to enforce 
a rate of pay for transportation. 

It would be a great relief to some of us simple-minded 
farmers if this clever |x'n-driver would come to our relief 
and solve a difficulty that is driving us wild. 

Here it is: 1 have a little farm of five hundred acres. 
It is supposed to be private property. Very well. On 
one fair summer day I find half a dozen good-looking 
gentlemen with instruments on my land, busy as Satan 
driving stakes and making notes as they sight their way 
along my best meadow land. 1 ask, politely, what they 
are about. 

" Making a survey for a bee-line from Pittsburgh to 
Chicago." 

" Through my farm? " 
" Through your farm." 

" But I will not have it. The road would ruin my 
farm. Now, stop where you are, or rather get off my 
place. You have not even been polite enough to ask my 

permission." 

" That is not considered necessary," the head man an- 
swers. " We should lose much time by going through 
such a ceremony with farmers. This is a public improve- 
ment, and if the right of way is denied we appeal to the 
courts. Your land is condemned and paid for, and there 
is the end of it." 

As this is true 1 am forced to submit. After the road 
is built, to my great injury, as a public improvement, 1 
take a car-load of cattle to the depot and ask to have 
them freighted to Chicago. I find the charges a third 
more than the same road demands fifty miles nearer 
Chicago and double, even, than what the charge should 
be. Somewhat indignant, for it is taking all the profit 
out of my beef, I say I will not pay. 

" Then we cannot transport your cattle," is the 
answer. 

"I will appeal to the courts — this is simply infamous." 

" And the courts will tell you, my dear sir, that they 
have no right to interfere. This is private property and 
exclusively a priv ate business. The courts t an as well fix 
your price of beef as our rates." 

Now, w ill the Nation or some other God-commissioned 
tony journal tell me where the public improvement ends 
anuthe private property begins? 

I did not, however, take up my "facile pen" to write 
you an article on railroads. It is quite useless. The 
Hon. Reagan's bill will die the death. Every member of 
Congress has his pockets stuffed with free passes, and 
that, as the complete letter-writer, Huntington, says, is 
enough to control Congress. — Donn Piatt in the Washing- 
ton Hatchet. 



READ AND TENNYSON. 



T. Buchanan Read, the dead poet, a native of Chester 
county, Pennsylvania, was in London in the summer of 
1861, and was inv ited to meet 'Tennyson at the house- of 
a common friend. He went with eagerness and enthu- 
siasm to see the illustrious singer, who figured in his mind 
the striking, handsome, noble-looking creature whose 
portrait, taken in his younger days, is so familiar. An 
introduction revealed a very dissimilar person, a thin- 
faced, fussy man, with scant hair, blue glasses and round 
shoulders— the reverse of his ideal. 

Immediately the Briton broke out with: "I wish to 
say, Mr. Read, that I have in the past had a liking for 
your country; but, as it is now plainly going to the dogs, 
I feel bound to tell you that you must not look for sym- 
pathy or aid from us Englishmen." 

Very properly nettled at such unpardonable rudeness, 
Read replied with heal, " Do not disturb yourself, Mr. 

Tennyson, about our country. We don't care a 

either for you, or your aid and sympathy. It is not worth 
having under any c in um stances. We propose to fight 
this thing out ourselves, regardless of F^urope. John 

Bull and his noble family can go to for all us. We 

Americans are not going that way just at present." 

'This insolent response, as Read himself said, instead 
of offending the elder poet, seemed to have a mollifying 
effect. " After that," to use his own words, " 'Tennyson 
treated me quite decently, and spoke very kindly of 
America and Americans. If I had allow ed his effrontery 
to pass in silence, he would have had no res|>ect for me. 
'The only way to get on with Englishmen who bully you 
is to bully them in turn." — London Truth. 



Whittier is the last of the great apostles of abolitionism 
now living, but several of the early workers are still alive, 
notable among them being Fred. Douglass and William 
Still. 



'The President of the Society of Public Analysis in Eng- 
land rec ently bought 300 samples of milk in London, and 
found 203 ol them either skimmed or watered. 



It takes between $2,000 and $3,000 to bury a Con- 
gressman at public expense. Because the government 
pays, exorbitant bills are rendered. 



|ohn G. Saxe, the '>oet, continues in feeble health. 
His affliction is an aggravated case of melancholia. He 
is sixty-eight years of age. 



It is the gearing of machinery that always travels in 
cog. — Lowell Courier. 

Double-barrel shotguns and umbrellas are parachutes, 
Oil City Blizzard. 

Six members of the present Congress have died. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



THE STAGE. 



About a hundred years hence America will 
have a drama. Dramatically speaking, it is at 
present at an age when it is wearing its father's 
clothes made over. It is growing so fast that no 
playwright can keep its measure, and so it has 
to import whatever new garments it requires, 
as the clothiers import ready-made hand-me- 
down suits. It has consequently to pay a high 
price for a very inferior article. The present 
home-made play is sha)>eless and fashionless. 
is wide in the sleeves, high in the collar, and 
baggy at the knees. It does not tit human a 
ture at any point, and only emphasizes th 
defects and weaknesses of humanity. It remind 
me of the mother who gets an old tailor's cards 
buys a lot of cloth and cuts her boy a fashion 
able coat from the pattern. It is perfectly 
guiltless of style, and before it gets throu 
rehearsal, the sewing comes out, the buttons 
come off, and it is placed before the public all 
patched and pinned up. A hundred years hence 
we shall have machine-sewed, tailor-cut, fashion 
able plays, just like those we get from Franc 
and England now. We shall then begin to mov 
on American history. By that time the gold dis 
covery will be far enough off to have a glamour 
poetry and romance. We shall have thrilling 
dramas of the "Monte Cristo" style, with General 
Sutter, in fantastic costume, blasting mountain 
of solid gold, and Mackay, in a gorgeous velve 
suit, will be represented as sticking a faucet into 
the Comstock and pouring out streams of silver. 
The Indians will become romantic figures like 
the savages in a Kiralfy ballet. The pioneers 
will be represented as bronzed and warlike men 
keeping guard night and day over treasures of 
untold value, and the Western play of 1984 will 
be a spectacle of magnificent wealth, of dignified 
and heroic characters, and of fair and innocent 
bronzed maidens in dresses of gold and silver 
and gems. The bear and the lion will growl ant 
tight, and thrilling scenes of hairbreadth 'scape 
from the primeval forests, which would be laugh 
able to-day, will move the gentle hearts of maid- 
ens of a century hereafter. We are too close to 
history yet to form romantic notions about 11 
We cannot endure anything that is taken from 
our surroundings. When we have traveled suf- 
ficiently far away from the prosaic costumes 
the war of 1812; when we have grown out of 
familiarity with the uniform of the soldiers of 
the war of the Rebellion; when we can dress 
the characters to suit the eye— to be quaint or 
pretty or striking, just as may best fit— we shall 
have a romantic drama, and a strong one. The 
critics of that time will dispute with actors and 
managers, just as they do now, and quarrel over 
the shape and color of the trowsers, the value of 
gold stripes, or the exact rank of epaulets. But 
there will Le a charm thrown around the Rel 
ion equal to that which makes the attractions of 
the Wars of the Roses. Gettysburg will be an 
other Bosworth-field, and the coincidence of the 
Richmond of our day and the Richmond of 
Shakespeare will be noticed as an extraordinary 
one, full of historical interest. 

No play can go on the American stage the 
scene of which is laid in any known place in 
America. No play laid in New York attains 
any degree of success, and a piece the story of 
which happened in San Francisco would only 
be accepted here, or anywhere else, if San Fran- 
cisco were idealized. To put a scene in the Pal- 
ace Hotel is to reduce the whole thing to com- 
mon-place familiarity. Everybody knows that 
no such scene ever took place there. A drawing- 
room could be laid anywhere, but a drawing- 
room scene in San Francisco could never be 
made dramatic to a San Francisco audience. 
When one reads in the play bill, " Scene — , 
Madison Square, New York," that settles it. 
There is no romance about the place. But " the 
interior of the Chateau Blanc," " Drawing-room 
in the house of Marquis Soap, Rue de 
Ruematiz," suggest everything to the imagina- 
tion, and anything might happen there. It docs 
not matter a straw what kind of costumes the 
courtiers of any past age wear on the stage. It 
does not matter how they behave or what they 
go through with. We don't know much about 
them, and we care less. All we ask is that the 
historical shall be sufficiently imaginative. Sar- 
dou once wrote a play the scene of which was 
laid in America. It was laughed at here. I 
fancy if the Parisians could see our plays, laid 
in France, they would howl with amusement. 
Yet we take them very gravely, and lhank heaven 
we do not live in France. Familiarity breeds 
contempt for plays as well as for everything else. 
When I first saw Sothern's Dundreary, in Eng- 
land, many years ago, an old English comedian 
played Asa Trenchard. He was an English 
Yankee, much as extravagant as the long-time 
typical British swell on the American stage. I 
have never seen any Asa Trenchard I have liked 
as well since. The American Asa is little of a 
humorist; he is a trifle vulgar, very "ornery" 
and homespun, and he entirely lacks the little 
exapgeration that heightens the fun of the char- 
acter, the effect of the dialogue and the peculiar 
charm of the sacrifice he makes in burning the 
will. I know the actor here is more natural, but 
he ruins the beauty of a part that is most effect- 
ive in its extravagances. So our time is com- 
ing. The pioneer, the '49er, great as has been 
the efiect of his labors, trying as was the ordeal 
he passed through to develop a new world, is 



not yet heroic on the stage. He is too near to 
us, too familiar to us in propria persona, and it 
will take a hundred years of glamour to make 
him fitted for a stage. He must be exaggerated 
to suit the fancies of people who never saw him 
in real life, and surrounded with beauties I hat 
will be purely imaginary. He must get drunk 
on champagne because whiskey is not a demo- 
cratic drink; and nobody will ever accept as 
true or possible the best glass of aquafortis which 
has ever burned its way through the hardiest 
pioneer. 

Another American lady has written a play. 
Women can never write plays. Even the most 
brilliant of them are weak in reasoning when it 
comes to men and characters. They know a 
good deal about men, too, some of them, but it 
is all wrong. It is a simple matter of impossi- 
bility that a woman should draw a man for the 
stage with any genera! fidelity. She only sees 
one side of him; or, if she happens to l>c mar- 
ried, her experience is only of one man, and he 
lies to her half the time. If she has experience 
of more than one, she is apt to draw a picture 
that no manager would care to put before the 
public. " That Man " is clearly by a woman— a 
woman of some experience of books and plays, 
but of little practical knowledge of the ways of 
men with regard to women in real life. She has 
caught all her ideas of characters from the stage. 
There is not an ounce of human nature in the 
whole piece. They all talk like books. The 
ladies have that ornate and polite dignity that 
comes natural only to stage society- women 
They are very polite. The men are, strangely 
enough, with the exception of the Marquis, bet 
ter drawn than the women, although only one of 
them could ever have had any existence in the 
modem form of creation. The story is curiously 
mixed, and told not unlike a woman's story 
The Marquis de Tangay has, under another 
name, been married to an American woman 
America. He deserts her, and she turns up in 
his house in Paris as governess to what turns out 
after to be her own child. She threatens to ex 
pose him, but he claims that the marriage was 
not binding in France. He is finally denounce* 
even by the French wife, and he shoots himself 
That is the story. It would be quite impossible 
to detail how Miss Logan-has worked if out 
There is backing and filling done by all the peo 
pie, all through the play. The deserted wife is a 
vacillating Christian woman, who, having foun< 
her husband, does not know what to do with 
him at all. lie does not know what to do with 
her. Miss Logan does not know what to d 
with either of them to make the play go for four 
acts; so she makes the wife yield her point, after 
sundry Christian and pure-minded speeches, 
varied with defiances and threats and strong 
dramatic gestures. She makes the second wife 
overlook admissions and remarks that to a per- 
fectly unsuspicious female would be pregnant 
with meaning. She works the child in m a way 
that clearly shows how much she thought the audi 
ence would reason on the relationship. The Mar 
quis is a deep-dyed villain of a most gentlemanly 
character. He is singularly gentle and con 
siderate. He first distinctly lays down the law 
that there is no legality in the marriage, and 
then he comes on and shows to the lover of his 
late wife the punishment for bigamy. After 
some self-communing, he comes to the conclu 
sion, in a most dignified manner, that if she w ill 
not go away she must be poisoned. He has with 
him that singular property-poison only known 
to the stage, which works rapidly and leaves no 
(race. Why he should want her to die suddenly 
and necessitate an inquiry, when he might poison 
her slowly and have a chance toescape detection 
is not very clear. Then Miss Logan takes the 
strong scence from the last act of "La Bell 
Russe " and has the mother offer the poison to 
the child. Finally, the Marquis shoots himself 
because they all find him out. It would be 
hopeless to point out the vagaries of the play 
The other parts are stupid, unreasonable, impos 
sible. The comedy is the old farce buried years 
ago. The Doctor is a poor adaptation of Bun- 
bury Kobb, in " Rosedale; " the servants belong 
to an age of dramatic rusticity. There is no 
ialogue good enough to remember, or bad 
enough to account for the weariness of the 
piece. If this can get New Vork's endorsement, 
let us see what New York rejects. Hereafter no 
verdict from New York can possibly affect the 
success or failure of a play here. 



Sarah Jewett is a lady— not a very com- 
mon thing on the stage. She gives you the 
impression ol good breeding, of womanly nature, 
f clean, pure character. There is nothing mer- 
etricious about her. \ 011 are bound to acknowl- 
Ige her personality. I don't blame her much 
that she shows weaklv in Muriel Chantrcy. 

he part has no backbone. There is no charac- 
ter in it that she can get hold of. It is a whin- 
ing woman, whose Christian weakness is forced 
at times into inappropriate claptrap of dramatic 
ituation. Sarah Jewett could not perhaps play 
strong female part. Sne could certainly not 
ke Jeffreys- Lewis's' characters. But she has a 
simplicity of style that is charming when it is 
suited, and she is homelike and natural. Henry 
Lee is one of that school of actors lately arisen 
whose field is the modern melodramatic villain. 
He can never assume a part in which he will not 
very evidently be acting. He is full of the arti- 
ficiality of the stage. His repose is self-con- 



scious, his delivery is intended for effect. To Ik> 
the thing he seems is next to impossible with 
him. He always makes one feel that he is cal 
dilating the efiect of his ap)>carance and his |xt 
form an CC, There is only a certain amount of 
appreciation for each man in this world, and 
when he absorbs a great deal himself he leaves 
little for his audience to show. Forrest is 
rising juvenile actor, and when he begins to get 
over his desire to create great effects that are 
neither possible nor expected, he will find h 
talent more at his command. Let me lay th 
others down gently for the present. 

We have never been without a manager in diff 
cullies in San Francisco. Now comes Bert, who, 
not satisfied wit h the comparat ively slow progress 
to ruin afforded by the California, drives tandc 
to the devil with the Grand Opera House and 
the Oakland theater. When one theater proves 
a failure, it may be policy to try the nmili 
ntnilibus curantur idea, but it is a good deal 
like a hungry man spending his last cent to buy 
an emetic. There is a strange fascination 
to outside people about managing a theater 
Business men who want gill-edged securities 
for their money in other advances are not infre 
quently induced to boost up a falling theater 
As long as the Grand Opera I louse can hold four 
thousand people, it is open to a manager to as 
Sume that four thousand people a night will go 
Calculation on that basis is easy. But somehow 
it is a paralyzing discovery how few people 
theater can hold. And it takes two or three 
straight doses of experience to educate some 
capitalists in the theatrical investment. But 
it is astonishing how gudgeons will bite at lend 
ing money to theater managers. Visions of free 
entrance to all performances are attractive, even 
to the wealthiest ; but to most of them the pros 
pect of admission behind the scenes and flirta 
tions with pretty actresses is the potent charm 
Somehow the thing never works as they ex|x:ct 
There is nothing so disillusioning as familiarity 
with actresses who permit it. 

Bert has been having a hard time of it lately 
and but for the weakness of the actor fraternity 
he would have been brought to grief long ago 
When Wessells kicks for his salary, and resigns 
because he does not get it, Bert engages Aveling 
When Aveling kicks and resigns, he engage 
Joseph Grismer; when Grismer steps down and 
out, Wessells comes back to the fold. And si 
they take one another's place, afraid to lose th 
chance of a week's salary, and keep the manage 
up, until some outside debt comes in with the 
sheriff's officer, collars the cash and leaves the 
all cold. Then they take benefits and appeal to 
the public. That means that they give their 
names for the benefit, sell all the tickets the. 
can to everybody they have ever spoken to, and 
the proceeds are divided between them and the 
management, making the public pony up th 
debts of the theater. When once a theater be 
gins to get into trouble there is only one course 
to pursue— shut it up. Actors are bad enougl 
when they are paid. They are unbearable when 
they are not paid; and when a manager comes to 
the point where he cannot pay bad actors, where 
on earth docs he expect to find money to bring 
out good people and give himself a chance? If 
Bert will shut up his theaters, arrange with hi 
siqwrs and other creditors, he may have a chant 
of attracting public favor. At present he is rais- 
ing nothing but a mild form of disgust. 

I am sorry Jeffreys-Lewis consented to play 
der the circumstances. Her Cora in "Article 47' 
is a clever piece of acting. " Article 47 " should 
be put on the shelf. It is a play dead and gone 
Nothing can ever revive it in public attention 
not even Clara Morris; and I doubt if " Alive ' 
is any more likely to succeed. As for the rest of 
the cast— on the two occasions on which I ha] 
pencil into the theater— the lines were not known 
and there was no acting, if I except Grismer 
who is always conscientious, and Miss Davies, 
who is a pupil of her husband in that matter. 



So Mapleson has triumphed, apparently, and 
succeeded in reconciling Gersfer and Patti to 
coming together. If the engagement is a great 
success, which I hope it will be, it will not be to 
the credit of Colonel Mapleson, but ol the pub- 
lic of San Francisco. In their laudable desire 
to hear Gerster and Patti, they have bought 
rather a pig in a poke. While I write the local 
management can give no certain information as 
to the operas in which Patti will sing, when 
the) will be given, how many there will be, or 
what prices will be charged. But I presume 
that the first four will be given as announced 
w ith Gerster. 1 sec Madame Nordiea who was 
the only other prima donna on tin list who 
made a success in anything, does not come at 
all. Mademoiselle I lot I i takes her place. I 
fancy the five-dollar seats will be sparsely taken 
for the night of " Rigolelto," but I presume that 

they expect it. Galassi is said to be a great Rigo- 
lettO, but I hardly think people will rank him in 
value with ( erster, and I .1111 willing to die'with- 
out hearing (ialassi if I have to pay five dollars 
for the pleasure. The public seem to have 
abundant faith in the Opera, and there will he 
on Monday night a turnout in the Grand Opera 
Mouse such, as has never before been seen in San 
Francisco. The house has been all re-papered, 
and will look entirely diflerent. The odious red 
paint on the boxes has been wiped out, and even 
the center gasalicr has been cleaned. 



Leavitt's variety company and the Minstrels 
compete with one another on Bush street, and 
it is about a stand-off. VoLAGE, 



THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE 
vs. ORCHESTRA. 



From Abbott to Patti is a far cry— one we 
have just heard and the other we have yet to 
listen to— but truly it is less' than a cable's 
length and more than a generation that divides 
them. Less than a cable, in that the conlts 
VOcalei unite them; more than a generation, in 
that in one is the dying echo of a great school, 
in the other the apogee of printer's ink and un- 
blushing self-assertion. Sundered as wide as 
the poles. When philosophers such asCarlyle's 
transcendent Teufclsdroch consider the never 
to-be - exhausted - all - holding - intiniteness of 
things, dollars and cents- the visible represent- 
atives of hoarded labor — sink into nqthingnen, 
Palestrina, Porpora nay, the whole race of 
giants who lived before Handel, Mozart and 
Rossini, and, as vocal writers, made them pos- 
sible—were but other and earlier TeufelsdrtSchs. 
Porpona in all probability never earned live 
thousand dollars throughout his whole life, but 
the school he perfected enables Patti to earn 
that sum in one night for singing at a single 
concert. As the harpsichord grew out of the 
dulcimer and the piano grew out of the harp- 
sichord, so from out of the mediaeval glees and 
madrigals, beneath the hand of the great Italian 
masters, sprang that glorious development of 
the human voice divine that blossomed in Stra- 
della, culminated in the immortal quartet, 
Grisi, Rubini, Tamburini and Lablacbe, and 
but the other day died in peace at Bayreuth. 

Patti alone remains; but alas, remains only as 
an echo. She brings us the old school; she 
alone of living singers has it. The slow scale 
the scale that made Rubini— she firings us that. 
Go and listen to it, .ye who teach and ye who 
seek to sing. She brings us the phenomenal 
voice, the registers blended from end to end 
without a break; not a false harmonic in its 
whole tissue of overtones, a pure soprano, true 
and beautiful as the leaves of spring. As she 
sings the echoes of the past crowtl down upon 
us. Oh, that they should be but the echoes! 
Alas, the pity of it, our diva is but a piece of 
golden earth! All she does is perfect— school 
perfect— development of a glorious piece of na- 
ture's handiwork. But the little spark— the 
nameless something that makes dull earth a 
heaven— she brings not that ; it is not hers to 
bring. Our Galatea is but marble; no Pygma- 
lion has fired her with the enthusiasm that makes 
the world akin. The passionate earnestness of 
Grisi, the tender pathos of Rubini, the lire of 
Tamburini, the majesty of Lablache — genera- 
tions must pass before such are heard again. 
\nd why? 

Why? The why is easy. Anlres tempi, 
an/res mteurs, 'The whole school of music is 
changing. Happily it is progressing— progress- 
ing grandly— possibly through crudities and 
anomalies, but ever onward to the light. It has 
ceased to drone the linked-out sweetness, the 
moonlight tenderness, of the Italian love-song. 
It has burst beyond its mere fleshly impalements, 
ami is grappling with the great heart of man in 
his soarings out and his yearnings for the un- 
known loveliness. Thoughts that logic cannot 
pen, and brush but faintly shadow, are coming 
thick upon the world of music. Brightest 
glimpses of the light shinefrom \\ieunsterMichnt 
"Ninth Symphony "—Beethoven's priceless |,g- 
acy to earth — through Berlioz's wondrous tone 
JOems, and through the marvelous imaginings 
of Wagner. But the half is not yet told. 
Strings, wootl and brass stride out into the future. 
U ready the orchestra s|icaks in tones that leap 
in unison with the unspoken thoughts of nu n's 
hearts. The human voice alone has no place in 
the dreams that stir the utterances of thepioneen 
into this newly opening land of beauty. It is 
but a s|>eck ; a few more fields of loveliness must 
yet be passed Fiddles, oboes and trumpets nuty 
catch a music as ravishing as the fabled har- 
mony of the spheres; but the sweetest ol them 
all— the human voice, the grandest exponent of 
the ever-varying kalcidosco|>e of hopes and long- 
ings which we call our life must, perforce, come 
back to its throne, and place I he corner-stone on 
the new edifice that art has invented and reared. 
Then will the old school of singing be rediscov- 
ered, and expand itsell to tin- richer and fuller 
requirements that will be presented in that COU- 
ourse ol sweet sounds the world w ill rejofoc in 
s the true " music of the future. 'The 
wretched phrase-breakers, the t wo-bar abomina- 
tions, the detestable scale-blurrers those tearers 
>f registeis that now abound and call themselves 
singers — will then exist no more, ami will be as 
it tie Known as the fiddle-rasper, the tlule-tooter 
md the comet-brayer that the modern orchestra 

s long ago chased Irom its ranks. 
Meanwhile Patti is with us. True, she only 
sings to us through the last-closing tombs of 

Lucia," oi " Linda," and the " Traviata," but 

he brings us a v i\ id echo li the far-off palmy 

ays — a picture faint though true oi a glorious 
as) that is buried for awhile, but only to rise 
again in a more glorified future. (Jo and hear, 
who love art, Seek out and learn the simple 
secrets that make her the marvelous singer that 
he is. True, the day of Italian opera is past 
ml over, and (he ho|ies of those who, a la Ab- 
lott. court the golden showers of prima-donna- 
id — with or without the gifts that have hitherto 
ommanded them -are but little likely to be 

realized'. Nevertheless, this is an age when pro- 
gression is swift. Many of us may live to see 
the day when voice and orchestra shall worthily 
blend in the fullest expression that music can 
attain. Co, ye singers, ye amateurs of human 
sentiment humanly expressed, go and listen to 
Patti. Make the most of, and treasure up, what 
you shall hear. Perhaps in the hoped-for renais- 
sance you may find it of surpassing value. 

KlNLAY FlNLAYSON. 



14 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 



The Outooiuc ol' ;m lriisli Kvictioii. 



BY JOHN MANNING. 

A gunshot from the county road in the west of Ireland, 
and some five acres from the hamlet, stood a farm-house 
on the edge of what in winter was a moor, but in summer 
a pasturage, where, when the sun drank up the water and 
the lofty sky needed moisture for painting its vivid blue, 
violets and daisies and all the world of field-Howers con- 
tended for room and loaded the air with their rich and 
rare aroma. It was the commonage of the hamlet, where 
the villagers' few head of cattle browsed in summer, and 
where, sooth to say, the village i»ii>er was wont to display 
his rustic talent in many a merry reel and sounding horn- 
pipe after mass on Sunday afternoon, when the village 
maidens and their beaux beat time on the spangled sward 
and danced till they were exhausted, while, to vary the 
entertainment, the girls pelted cowslips at the boys and 
the Iwys resented the outrage by kissing the girls. It was 
rural happiness such as poets love to sing. 

Skirting the road and fronting the house, owned and 
occupied by Miles O'Grady and his family, were some 
forty acres of tillage ground, rented by the O'Gradys 
time out of mind, but the dilapidated fences and hedges 
of which denoted now culpable neglect or declining cir- 
cumstances. The half-do/en gnarled old elms around 
the house, planted by an ancestor of the present occu- 
pant, were sturdy witnesses of the long duration of the 
O'Grady occupancy. 

Three generations were now living under the old roof- 
tree — Miles, the grandsire ; Patrick, his son, and the 
children of Patrick. Hut times of late had not gone 
well with the O'Gradys. The old landlord, Mr. Han- 
cock, had been dead some time, and his son and heir, 
" Master Henry," was now in possession. Mr. Hancock, 
an easy-going man, charged only eight dollars an acre all 
round for his land — swamps, moors, tillage ground and 
all coming under the one denomination. The tillage 
ground, he said, was worth fifteen dollars an acre, while 
the swamps and moors were worth only a third of that 
price, and, as a fair compromise between man and man, 
he would take eight dollars for the land. He was, of 
course, a loser by the arrangement, but he wasn't a man, 
as everybody knew, to stop at trifles. The " presents" — 
and he bargained for the " presents " — would be some con- 
sideration, however trilling, and so each householder 
(and there were three hundred on the estate) was expected 
to send up to the " big house " a certain number of tur- 
keys and geese at each succeeding Christmas, and like- 
wise some eggs and chickens in the pro per season. The 
"presents" would be useful, he said, as he entertained 
on a liberal scale, especially in the fox-hunting season, 
and the tenantry would be none the poorer for a few 

• hundred poultry. 

Then, besides, each tenant should supply four days 
gratuitous labor in the year— one day's labor in spring to 
plant his fields; another in summer to cut his peat, and 
the remaining two to reap his harvest and haul home the 
fuel — in all twelve hundred day's gratuitous work in the 
year from his three hundred tenants. And so, all things 
considered, the tenants were pretty well off. Miles 
O'Grady and his family could cat meat four times a year, 
and keep shoes to his grandchildren in winter. 

But with the accession of the young heir came a new 
order of affairs, as he did not reside on the estate but 
lived in London, and was, so people said, prone to cards 
and the society of fashionable women. He discharged 
the old agent (he who used to gather in the turkeys and 
geese in the good old time) and appointed a more energetic 
man in his place — a man who would stand no nonsense, 
however prettily expressed in "presents" of eggs and 
]X)ultry. Mr. Stoneheart, the new agent, raised the rent 
from eight to twelve dollars an acre, and wrote to his 
principal in London saying that the tenants were incura- 
bly lazy, but that if fortified with ample authority, he 
would make a radical change on the whole property. 

To this the young gentleman replied that, as the old 
fool, his father, had nearly ruined his son and heir by his 
idiotic forbearance toward a worthless tenantry, he (Mr. 
Stoneheart) could do just as he pleased, provided he sent 
him, the heir, plenty of money. Upon receipt of this 
authorization Mr. Stoneheart informed the tenants in the 
most considerate manner possible that, unless they paid 
up promptly, out they should go. 

Miles O'Grady and his family could now no more eat 
meat four times a year, nor keep shoes to his grand- 
children in winter. The rest of the tenantry were worse 
off still. In short, Miles O'Grady couldn't pay the rent. 

It was December, a few days before Christmas, when 
the west w inds, charged w ith the mists of the Atlantic, 
sweep the Irish coast and sop and saturate the earth. 
The thick, murky atmosphere blotted out the sun and 
chilled to the marrow; sleet in whirling gusts blinded the 
wayfarer; birds were dumb in the bushes; barn-fowl hud- 
dled promiscuously together for shelter; cattle stood shiv- 
ering on the bleak pasture; the barefooted children crept 
around the peat lire and ceased their prattle; the young 
sat listlessly around, and the old looked out on the sky 

.d abroad on the weather and muttered, " What a ter- 

• ribleday!" 



And just here I would say respectfully to the reader 
that, while there are gifted men, born and trained to the 
arts and graces of literary fiction, I, a simple man, only 
write a plain, unadorned narrative of that which I have 
witnessed. 

On that December day, when the sleet was pelting and 
the sun sulkily refused to cast a glance on those bleak 
Gal way moors, a platoon of military, enforced by a con- 
tingent of Royal Irish Constabulary, and conducted by 
Mr. Stonehart and the hangers-on of the " big house," 
came marching down the county road and bent their way 
to what was once the happy home of old Miles O'Grady. 
The neighbors around, not unwitting of the cause of the 
formidable visitation, flocked to the fore in numbers. 
Father Burke, the parish priest, was there, too, to render 
such service as the occasion might demand. 1 )own came 
the troops, Mr. Stonehart leading, and halted in front of 
the O'Grady dwelling. The henchmen, slowly and de- 
liberately uncoiling their ropes and producing their crow- 
bars, cast the ropes across the roof and fastened them to 
the eave, while they stood ready to ply their crow bars at 
the word of command. 

" Lor the sake of him who was born at this holy season 
for the salvation of the world," expostulated Lather 
Burke, riding up to Mr. Stonehart, "do not thus destroy 
a decent family ! " 

" Do I," retorted Stonehart, standing in his saddle and 
scowling at the sjiokesman, "do I, sir priest, interrupt 
you when you're saying yotrr mass? " 

" But the weather! " supplicated the priest. " Consider 
the temi>cstuoiis weather, and that old Miles O'Grady is 
on his deathbed ! " 

" Ready, there? " shouted Mr. Stonehart, disdaining a 
reply; "are you all ready?" 

" Ready!" shouted his henchmen. 

" Now, a strong pull and a pull together!" commanded 
Mr. Stonehart, and in five minutes the crowbars were 
fastened in the eaves, the ropes were pulled and down 
came the roof, without so much as a rafter being left on 
the walls. The unroofing of the farm-house was com- 
plete, and the dying patriarch was carried out by the 
neighbors and put upon the dung-heap. His daughter- 
in-law, in a delicate condition and shocked by the inci- 
dent, was taken ill and prematurely delivered of a still- 
born babe on the same dung-heap on which the dying old 
man was now raving in the delirium of consuming fever. 

"Johnny, Johnny, dear!" cried the old man, calling 
to his grandchild, a boy ten years of age; " Johnny, 
dear, where's my beads? Get me my rosary beads, 
Johnny; I'm lonesome without them." Anil the boy ran 
and searched the ruins and brought to his grandfather his 
rosary beads. 

" You're a good boy, Johnny. You were always a 
good child. May the blessings of God attend you! And 
now, Johnny, do you see this cross— the cross on the 
blessed rosary beads? " 

" Yes, grandfather." 

" That's the cross o' Christ, Johnny, the cross o' Christ. 
Glory be to his holy name—" 
" Yes, grandfather." 

"And Johnny, I want you to kiss the cross o' Christ." 

" Yes, grandfather," replied the child, kissing the small 
crucifix attached to the beads. 

"And now, Johnny, I want you to say this after me: 
' By the cross o' Christ, when I am a man, I will — '" 

And the old man clutched the boy by the arm, and 
w hispered in his ear. 

The child stood confused, and made no reply. 

" Don't you understand me, Johnny? Don't you un- 
derstand your old grandfather?" And again he whispered 
in the child's ear. 

The child, now comprehending his grandfather, turned 
purple and then pale. 

" Do you understand me, Johnny?" 

" Yes, grandfather." 

" Then say, ' By this cross o' Christ — "' 

" By this cross o' Christ, I will, when I am a man " 

The old man now relapsed into obliviousness, and so 
remained for several minutes. 

"Are you there, Johnny?" he asked, without opening 
his eyes. 

" Yes, grandfather." 

" Johnny, pull the clothes off o' me ; I'm burning with 
the heat." 

"O no, grandfather; you'd die with the cold. It is so 
cold! It is sleeting. You would die from cold." 

"I tell you, child, I'll die from the heat if you don't 
pull the clothes off o' me. Oh, how the blood is boiling 
in me! And my head— my head! God bless you, 
Johnny. Tell yer mother not to fret. God is good ; God 
is good!" 

And Miles O'Grady, heaving a sigh, and unconscious 
of his situation, expired on the dung-heap. 

The O'Gradys soon scattered. The mother of Johnny, 
on her recovery, took with her her three yolingest children 
and begged her bread among the neighbors, while her 
husband went to Lngland to look for work and Johnny 
was taken by Father Burke to run errands when he wasn't 
at school. 

Mr. Stoneheart 's plan of running the estate and reform- 
ing the tenants didn't succeed at all, for rarely is a phi- 
lanthropist successful in his own generation. He only 
succeeded in reducing the people to scantier rags, to 



shorter potatoes and nastier cabins. P.ents diminished, 
the good Stoneheart was dismissed, and " Mast her " Henry 
Hancock was obliged to mortgage his property, to marry 
a wife and come from London to live in the " big house," 
even among the bogs and moors of Galway. How that 
family is venerated in Galway, to be sure! 

Mr. Hancock had not been born or trained to fox- 
hunting, for he was, so to say, enervated by early excesses 
in London, and therefore the Galway " blazers"— those 
blazing huntsmen in scarlet, who thought nothing.of jump- 
ing a five-bar gate and less of riding over other people's 
cornfields — did not esteem him very highly. But he made 
up for his lack of fox-hunting accomplishments and eques- 
trianism generally. He kept a pack of hounds, a dozen 
full-blooded hunters, hostlers, cooks, butlers, and, like 
his honest father, entertained the fox-hunting gentry of 
the county on the most liberal scale, and thus condoned, 
in somewhat, the indispensable accomplishment in a Gal- 
way gentleman of hunting the fox. 

The years rolled on — and how inexorably they do, to 
be sure, roll on! Mr. Hancock found himself surrounded 
with sons and daughters: Master Henry, Master lames. 
Miss Amelia, Miss Agnes, and several others. Nature 
had not neglected Johnny O'Grady, now a Strapping 
young man of twenty-five. He was tall and powerful and, 
for his condition, intelligent. By compensation of the 
Fates, he became head hostler to Mr. Hancock. He 
could throw the sledge, dance a hornpipe, and ride or 
jump his master's hunter over a five-bar gate with any 
man, gentle or simple, in Galway county. He was popu- 
lar in the parish, and what added to his popularity, 
especially among the young men, he was, so it was ru- 
mored, the head of a secret organization in the parish, 
known as the " Root and Branch Society." What the 
object of the society was nobody knew, except the in- 
itiated; but at any rate lohnny O'Grady, by only holding 
up his little finger, could command all the young men of 
the parish. 

How w ell, to be sure, I remcmberall the circumstances 
and all the surroundings! 

It was December, a few days before Christmas, just in 
the height of the fox-hunting season. The Hancocks, 
old and young, and the principal fox-hunters of the 
county, had been out all day in the glorious hunt. From 
early morn till dusk they rode — rode forty miles over 
ditches and hedges and five-bar gates, and bagged the fox 
in the evening. So glorious an event should be duly com- 
memorated, and a ball and supper in the Hancock man- 
sion — the same " big house " in which of yore were cele- 
brated so many similar events — proclaimed the triumph 
of the huntsmen over the proverbial cunning of the fox. 

Lights gleamed from a hundred windows, music 
floated on the midnight air, the gay revelers in the ball- 
room moved now to the soft measure of the waltz and 
now to the livelier tune of the quadrille. Miss Amelia 
and Miss Agnes, among a score of county belles, were 
the attraction of the room, and Master Henry and Master 
James, their brothers, were dispensing the hospitalities 
and gayeties of the ancient Hancock House. It was a 
happy, happy revelry. The young, the old, the middle- 
aged mixed and danced and chatted as only those do 
who revel in the hospitalities of a fox-hunting Irish land- 
lord. 

Nor in the servants' quarters were they a whit behind 
their superiors and betters in the ball-room. Johnny 
O'Grady, the head hostler and the moving spirit in the 
servants' hall, had invited the young men of the neigh- 
borhood, and they were having a high old time in the 
kitchen. 

Johnny O'Grady, about two o'clock in the morning, 
after singing a patriotic song, and while the young ladies 
and their admirers were treading the mazy dance up- 
stairs, rose, and after stamping three times with his foot 
on the kitchen floor, asked: 

" Are you ready, boys? " 

" Ready and willing," answered the boys. 

" Then follow me into the yard." 

They all went out. 

" The doors? " he asked, in a quiet tone, when they all 
were standing dose together in the yard. 

" They're all locked and bolted," was the answer. 

" And the turpentine?" he asked. 

" We have sprinkled every door and entrance," was the 
reply. 

" And the wood and the faggots? Iseverything ready? " 

"Everything is ready, Johnny," replied a man in the 
crowd, deprecatingly. Everything you ordered is done ; 
but for God's sake, spare Miss Amelia! " 

" I lave you the sign of the society? " demanded Johnny, 
in a stern voice. 

" Yes, here it is," said the man, producing a cross. 

" You swore," retorted the leader, " you swore by that 
cross to destroy the Hancocks, Root and Branch." 

" I did, I did, and I will; but spare Miss Amelia, 
Johnny; poor Miss Amelia! She's not like the rest o' 
them." 

"By this cross!" retorted O'Grady, "this cross, by 
which I swore to my grandfather, before his death on the 
dung-heap, I will destroy the Hancocks, root and branch, 
without exception or distinction, and the man now that 
don't keep bis oath must die like the rest o' them!" 

The glare of his eyes and the calmness of his voice were 
such as might characterize a devil bent on the destruction 
of the world. All held their breath. 

" Are ye all ready and willing?" hissed the leader. 

" Ready and willing!" was the suppressed and horrid 
response. 

" Then, the torches! Every man to his post!" 

In five minutes the mansion was envelo|>ed in flame 
and the revelers in the ball-room were being suffocated 
with smoke. They yelled and screamed and fought, or 
tried to fight, the flames; but as well might the Arch- 
fiend expect to escape from the depths of Tartarus. Not 
one escaped. The sun rose on the blackened walls and 
upon the dead bodies of every Hancock. 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



PUBLIC SCHOOLS OF SAX FRANCISCO. 



Wherein Tliey are Materially Defective. 



BY BELLE M. FROST. 



While there is much in the management of the public 
affairs of San Francisco to deplore, there is, with only an 
occasional exception, a general feeling of satisfaction, 
amounting almost to pride, with regard to our public 
school system. 

Our city is still in her youth ; but in this respect she is 
not far behind her elder New England sisters at the other 
extreme of our country, who sit admittedly queens in 
all that concerns the educational affairs of the nation. 
While congratulating ourselves upon the measure of suc- 
cess attained, let us not shut our eyes to the faults which 
so insinuatingly weave themselves with the good, but with 
a firm hand be willing not only to point out but also to 
eradicate them from a system which would else be so 
complete. Especially is this necessary in view of the 
growth of the city in the past few years. The garments 
which a short time since fitted admirably are now out- 
grown. These must be made over, while more material 
and greater resources must be obtained, that the outfit be 
both symmetrical and unique. 

" Say, Jim, give's yer apple," said a monitor of fourteen 
to a little hungry-eyed urchin of eight, as they were break- 
ing ranks to enjoy their recess as best they could, in one 
of our crowded school-yards. 

"It's all I've got, and I'm hungry, you bet!" and 
away the little fellow ran, forgetful of the vengeance 
which might fall on his head for daring to enjoy an apple 
without at least " divying " with so influential a personage 
as a monitor. Poor Jim ! The core was not quite demol- 
ished when his right arm was roughly seized by the disap- 
pointed apple-beggar, jerking the fruit of discord into the 
air, whence it descended upon forbidden ground. 

" D'ye see that, Jim? — office offense!" 

Pale and trembling, the culprit is hauled by his youth- 
ful overseer into the presence of the principal for throw- 
ing apple-cores in the yard. He dare not explain matters, 
for here are two big fellows against one little one, and he 
might get extra licks "for telling a lie." Sometimes a 
principal forgets to reason that if a little fellow tells little 
lies a larger one may tell larger lies. 

This is a fair example, founded on the fact, of the 
tyranny which may be carried on unknown to the princi- 
pal under the obnoxious monitor system. Men are nat- 
ural tyrants, and it is the discipline of years that either 
chains or tames this element ; therefore, there is no 
greater tyrant than a child placed in authority over a 
younger one. The importance of the position makes 
him as despotic as the C/.ar of the Russias. The monitor 
system should be abolished, as it gives our children les- 
sons in tyranny which they should never receive. It is in 
vogue in many of our schools, as it is said to be helpful 
in government. It is a false help, and no teacher should 
be considered competent who is obliged to resort to such 
assistance. There is only one feature of it which is ad- 
missible — that is, for a child advanced in lessons to help 
one who is not as much so. This may be used carefully 
with excellent results. 

The promotion of teachers during the school year is a 
custom which should cease. After the schools have been 
started, and all are running in an orderly manner, it too 
often happens that a teacher in a certain grade, say the 
fourth, has to resign for some cause, such as matrimony — 
not an unusual thing when so many of the fair sex are 
employed. Not only does her school suffer by this 
" necessary evil," but all below. The teacher of the fifth 
takes her place, and so on down, the lowest suffering the 
most, as it falls into the hands, as a rule, of some inex- 
perienced girl from the Normal School. 

If a teacher chooses to marry in the middle of a school 
year, her gain should only be a loss to her school by 
placing the new teacher there. This, it is said, is unfair 
to the teacher below, as there is a foolish notion that 
greater honor lies in teaching a fourth than a fifth grade. 

If there is any difference in honor it should be in favor 
of the lowest grade, where the younger children are. 
They can do the least for themselves, need the most help 
from the teacher, and should therefore be in charge of 
those who have the most exiierience and patience. Like 
young birds, they have not learned to fly, and must 
be tenderly carried and cared for until they understand 
how. These changes during the school year are extreme ly 
detrimental to the scholars, and place the instructor at 
great disadvantage. It takes weeks for the teacher to 
know and understand her pupils. If she be conscientious, 
this knowledge will result in an interest in each child 
which must be of great help to it in its school work. Just 
when this tie has been formed between teacher and 
scholar, how unfortunate that it should be broken, for 
she is the center of the little band, which she holds by a 
magnetic force which is really the basis of their success. 
Destroy this, and there remains a school, indeed, but 
only in form and not in spirit. Teachers should be em- 
ployed by the year, and the contract should only be 
broken by unavoidable circumstances. 

And now, what shall be said of the instructors and 
guardians of our youth— those who stand on the same 
platform as their parents in influencing and directing their 



future? As a body they are good-looking, well dressed, 
refined in their manners and intelligent, all holding certifi- 
cates of high cultivation and morality ; for there is no 
state in the country that requires of its Normal School a 
higher standard of excellency. 

Fortunate would it be if this was all that was needed 
for the training of youth. Hut much more is necessary — 
the genius and the adaptibility for teaching, or at least a 
faithful and conscientious endeavor to attain these when 
they do not naturally exist. 

And right here the cast-iron certificate fails. How 
many ladies of intelligence and refinement there are who 
possess these natural gifts in a high degree, yet could not 
obtain the required per cent in the examinations because 
their technical days are over. These would make the very 
best teachers for the smaller children. I low many of those 
holding positions at present do so, not that they love the 
work, or because they desire to help the children to love 
theirs, but because they possess a piece of paper which 
shows how many books they have studied, and because 
of some political influence which holds them for its finan- 
cial benefit. If this is not true, why do we see the same 
child one year bright and happy in its school work, and 
the next indifferent to, if not positively hating, its lessons? 
Love of work in the only sure guaranty of success. If it 
is so with regard to manual labor, how much more must 
the law hold good where the work is of the highest — the 
molding of living minds and hearts? The two subjects, 
cramming and corporal punishment, of which so much 
is said, are easily disposed of by the true teacher. As for 
the first, while the pressure of the age would seem to 
require more of it than there was in stage-coach times, 
there is in reality less, for the methods of Froebel have 
breathed a new life into all forms of education. Nature, 
in a thousand loving forms, comes into the school-room, 
and adorns with beauty the dry and bony skeletons of 
bygone methods. With these the artist teacher is thor- 
oughly imbued, and technicality becomes in her hands at 
worst only a sugar-coated pill. Corporal punishment she 
also disposes of with the greatest case. It must not be 
taken away, as that would be an infringement on the 
teacher's right. She should possess every influence, men- 
tal, moral and physical, that can be used to bring the 
child into the desired haven. The teacher who can ob- 
tain the best results with the least amount of brute force 
should rank the highest. An excess of rod discipline 
should be a just cause of dismissal, showing as it does a 
lack of moral influence. Thus these educational prob- 
lems can easily be solved by the wise teacher. Then how 
imi>ortant that our schools should be governed by such ! 

Who, then, shall choose these guardians of our youth? 
Surely not bar-room politicians; not men seeking their 
own aggrandizement, or those who are trying to fill their 
pockets, if not from the school funds, then through the 
contract system, which isvnly a back-door way of doing 
the same thing. Such too often are the men who form' 
that respectable body called a Board of Education. 

Instead of men who love the community- philanthro- 
pists and humanitarians — being placed in this honorable 
position, we find those who think they arc making this 
place a stepping-stone to something higher. Thus, un- 
fortunately, the educational system is often besmeared by 
the soiled feet of the ward politician. Such men are not 
fit to select our teachers, for with politics and whisky cir- 
culating through their blood, what do they know of the 
best material for such a sacred use? 

Imagine a lady of refinement, in her necessity to obtain 
her bread and butter, finding it necessary to go to a bar- 
room for influence to secure a position* If the Hoard of 
Education must be chosen by a political faction, that 
party should remember one thing in selecting its mem- 
bers — that it should be an ornament to the party ; for a 
worthless Hoard of Education will sooner undermine a 
party than any other branch of the city government of 
equal paucity. Should not a Hoard of Education be 
COrt posed of men and women who really love the inter- 
ests of education, who have made the social problem a 
study, and have discovered that the advancement of a 
community lies in the training of its youth? Names 
might be mentioned— for as we write a woman comes be- 
fore the mind's eye who never considers any sacrifice too 
great for the good of the young; whose words arc spoken 
and whose life is lived for their benefit. Who is better 
fitted in this community to be placed with others of the 
same Stamp where their influence might be more strongly 
felt? 

Two important issues can only be pro|>erly dis|>oscd of 
by an tin trammeled and disinterested Hoard the ques- 
tion of text-books and the wise use of school funds. As 
things are managed at present, it is next to impossible to 
Supplant a |Kior text-book, rich in "influence," with a 
better one destitute of that requisite. The consequence 
will be a revolution. Every book in use will be ejected. 
Others no better maybe put in (heir place, and no one 
can tell whence the wind came which caused the change. 
On account of the vicissitudes of the lniok business, edu- 
cation costs as much now at our free schools as it did long 
ago when they were not in existence. Some one gets a 
benefit, if the children do not. 

As regards the wise use of the school funds there is not 
much to be said, as the subject has recently been thor- 
oughly discussed. Whether or not the system so com- 
plete in all its parts (only needing expansion on account 



of the growth of the city) shall have its head chop]>cd off 
in order to broaden its foundation, is a matter for citizens 
of wealth who have a pride in our institutions to decide. 
Is it not possible to broaden the one without destroying 
the other? If not, then sacrifices must be made in the 
line of luxuries; since to give the few accomplishments 
while the many are not able to get the simple elements of 
education would be like starving certain members of a 
family that the others might regale themselves on pie and 
oysters on the half-shell. The foundation should be laid 
broad and deep, for the influence of the first twelve years 
of a child's life is of the greatest importance, for then the 
great majority of children leave school. For this reason 
kindergartens are of more importance than high schools. 
Let there be plenty of room, plenty of good, plain in- 
struction; let there be kindergartens for the young; then, 
if there is yet means, let there be a high school worthy of 
the community. Let there be no limit to what shall lie 
done for the children our future state in embryo. Nor 
should it be called a system for paupers. Sow degrad- 
ing! It is sup|X)rted mainly by men of means, and their 
children have as much right to enjoy its benefit as the 
poor. They are our free schools, to train free citizens for 
our free country. 



THE DANYIU.E RIOT. 



Last week the room of the Senate Committee on Privi- 
leges and Elections was transformed into a chamber of 
inquisition. Senator Sherman, looking very solemn, and 
Senator Vance, looking very sedate, used it for an abid- 
ing place wherein to ferret out the facts of the Danville 
riot. To overcome the frigid state of the atmosphere 
caused by the presence of Senator Sherman, seven extra- 
large cylinder stoves were put up in the room, but they 
did not prevent the witnesses and reporters from wearing 
fur-lined overcoats and hot bricks in their shoes. The 
first witness called was a colored brother named Ananias 
Doughnut. Mr. Doughnut was examined by Senator 
Sherman. The verbatim report of his testimony was as 
follows : 

"In dc mornin' ob dc arternoon ob de day ob de hom- 
myside I went ter chu'eh an' den persisted as godfarder 
at de chrissnin' ob Mose Jones's leetle baby. De day 
was Sattyday, and it's alius my custim ter be at er chriss- 
nin' in de kerpassity ob godfarder on er Sattydy mornin'. 
Sorter makes de moobement inter Sunday sorter easy 
like and sootheful. Well, boss, I wus a-comin' fum 
chu'eh wen I seed er lot erdese yere i>o' w'ite men stand- 
in' on de pabement on Main street wid pistils, grate big 
hosspistils, boss, in deir hans. Dere was er lot er 'spect- 
able cullid peepil in de middle ob de street er holdin' 
Baptis' tracks in deir hans. Den all ob a suddint de po' 
w'ite trash dey begun er shootin' at de 'spcctable cullud 
peepil, an' den, boss, I lef." 

" Did you see any of the colored people killed?" in- 
quired Senator Sherman. 

"Kilt, boss!" replied Mr. Doughnut, "why, boss, dey 
jist fell down dar an' died like shotes wid de chollcry. 
An' ebery wun er 'em war shot in de back as dey war er 
tryin' ter git away." 

"Did any of the colored people have pistols?" in- 
quired Senator Sherman. 

" No, indeed, boss. Whar dey git pistils? Ain't had 
no mo' pistils as one er dese yer groun hogs. Den, boss, 
fur er week arter de fuss ebery w'ile man, 'ooman and 
chile in Danville dun walk errount wid guns an' knives 
an' pistils in deir pockits, an', boss, sum er de w'ite mens 
had dese yere Gatlin' guns in deir close." 

" Didn t the colored people have any weapons? " 

" No, indeedy, boss, 'ceptin' ob co'se deir razzors. 
Ca'se ebery cullud geimerman carries a raz/.or." 

Mr. Doughnut's testimony being finished. Senator 
Vance called and examined Mr. !• list family Hlucblood. 
Mr. Hlueblood testified as follows: 

" I was engaged, sah, on the morning of the deplorable 
affair, sah, in paring my corns with my room -mate's 
razor, sah, when I heard a ferocious sound in the street, 
sah. I rushed down into the street, sah, and beheld, 
sah, a sanguinary host of negroes hemming in a few 
white gentlemen, sah, against the side of the houses on 
Main street, sah. The white gentlemen, sal), were armed 
with cigar-holders, sah, while the infuriated negroes were 
bedecked, sah, with numerous guns and pistols, sah, and 
broadswords, and, sah, a mountain howitzer. They 
Opened fire, sah, Upon the defenseless w hite gentlemen, 
sah, and the defenseless while gentlemen, sah, ducked 
their heads. Then, sah, the volley of bullets passed over 
their bended heads, sah, and striking, sah, upon the sides 
of the houses, sah, they rebounded and played sad havoc 
among the infuriated negroes, sah. That, sah, is the true- 
story, sah." 

After Mr. Hlucblood's testimony was concluded. Sena- 
tor Sherman's rigid cross-isaininalion having failed to 
shake it in the feast, the committee adjourned. In 
the evening Congressman Ochiltree entertained Messrs. 
Doughnut and Hlueblood at dinner. - WashingtonHatchtt. 



Mrs. R. H. Hayes has the finest poultry -yard west of 

the Alleghenies. It is said that when Rutherford goes 

out in the morning with a tin pan full of Indian meal and 
warm water mixed, the rush reminds him of his old-time 
popularity in Washington whi n he had offices at his dis- 
posal. 

An Iowa boy aged fifteen worked a month for the 
physician of the neighborhood, and was given, instead of 
the $10 which he expected, a receipted bill for profes- 
sional services which the doctor had rendered on the oc- 
casion of his birth. 

Nothing is c reated in vain. A Wisconsin doctor is buy- 
ing up the original manuscript of Ella Wheeler's poems, 
and in pxtrcme cases uses them instead of mustard plas- 
ters.— Fresno Republican. 



i6 



THE SAN FRANCISCAN. 



STORIES OF GREAT STATESMEN, 



During the political canvass of 1872 it used 
to 1)C the wonder of the town why that eminent 
statesman, (Jeorge Hudson, never missed a 
meeting of the Republican County Committee. 
No matter how long the Committee sat, or how 
rancorous the debate that kept it in session, the 
jovial countenance of Mr. Hudson graced tin- 
doorway of the council chamber. When secret 
sessions liecame the rule of the Committee, Mr. 
Hudson was equally diligent, and cooled his 
heels in the chilling corridors until the wrangling 
patriots emerged from their seclusion. Mi. 
Hudson had once been suspected of having aspi- 
rations to become the local boss nt lb'- l\t | ml >li- 
can parly; but his frantic ellorts in the pursuit 
of that laudable ambition had only lightened 
him in flesh and in pocket. It was generally 
supposed that he had settled down to the con- 
viction that primary elections were the property 
of a private corporation in which he had no in- 
terest, and that the privilege of voting for his 
ticket was as much as any ordinary citizen could 
expect. Of course it was known that Mr. Hud- 
son was related in some way to Mr. Fred. 
Elliott, of the warlike Tenth; but the wildest 
stretch of the imagination could not reach the 
conclusion that il was the melody of Frederick's 
frequently uplifted voice that chained his kins- 
man to the doorway. Mr. Hudson, in (he long 
years of his unsuccessful struggle to dethrone the 
bosses, had been distinguished by the somber- 
ness of his appearance. A tall, black hat 
pressed his darkened brow and shaded his eyes 
of midnight hue. His beard, where Unbleached 
by the hardships of many campaigns in the 
Thirteenth district, was black. His collar was 
generally white— all the brass ones being in the 
possession of his rivals His necktie was sober 
enough for an undertaker, and his broadcloth 
was as woe-begone as the vail of a grass-widow. 
The only noticeable spots of color in the make- 
up of the eminent statesman were the whites of 
his eyes, which generally expanded to the size of 
cart-wheels whenever Colonel Peter Deveney 
shook the committee-room with his logic. 

The Colonel was a striking contrast to Mr. 
Hudson in all ways. Everything about the pat- 
riotic warrior was light and airy. His hat was 
always of the jauntiest pattern; his mustache 
trimmed to a nicety; his attire a mixture of 
lashionable grace and military preciseness. The 
remarkable feature of the Colonel's attire, how- 
ever, was his necktie — whiter than the fleece of 
one of Mr. Buckley's lambs before its first 

plunge in the political pool, and stiller than 

Captain Douglass on dress parade. The changes 

of the weather and the variations of the political 
barometer made no alteration in the Colonel's 
tie. Through rain and sunshine, summer and 
winter, it lay round his manly throat, as un- 
changeable in its purity as the snow-wreaths of 
Mount Davidson. To the sober taste of Mr. 
I ludson the Colonel's dazzling neck-gear was for 
a long time a revolting spectacle; but the more 
he observed it the stronger became his convic- 
tion that there was some inexplicable affinity of 
white calico ties to political office. The 
Colonel's white neckcloth graced the commit tee- 
room in the City Hall perennially. I!ul the 
Colonel was not alone among esteemed patriots 
in the rage for bleached calico. 

Major lames Mulcahy never ventured into the 
maelstrom of a primary election in the Seventh 
ward without a strip of spotless calico serving 
as a life-buoy around his neck. Citizen 
Kearney, in the height of his power, affected the 
snowy badge of destinction; but his natural 
antipathy to the laundry business made his 
preference a matter of doubt. Colonel Jim Can- 
non never beamed over the railing of the Capitol 
lobby unless a yard of calico framed his smile, 
and Dick Chute invariably offset the dazzle of 
his diamonds by the purity of his necktie. 

The campaign of 1872 ended and found Mr. 
Hudson still glued lo the door-posts of the Re- 
publican County Committee room, and staring 
in silent wonder at Colonel Deveney 's band of 
calico. In the peace that followed the counting 
of the ballots the strange sights of the Commit- 
tee room were forgotten, and Mr. Hudson's 
patient vigil passed from the memory of the 
hundreds who had gazed on him night after 
night in mingled sympathy anil astonishment. 
Months rolled by, and one day political circles 
were startled by the announcement that Mr. 
Hudson hail actually been chosen to represent 
his district in the Republican County Commit - 
tee. How it happened no one seemed to know. 
But a still greater surprise was in store, for 
when the Commit tee met for business none of 
his old acquaintances would have known the re- 
suscitated statesman. His ancient "tile" was 
gone, and the \\ bites of his eyes no longer looked, 
in their black sellings, like the rim of a Creed- 
moor target. Hut the most wonderful Iran -tor 
nialion of all was in his neck-gear. His necktie 
was of the whitest of calico, starched and ironed 
into such aggressive elegance that the spotless 
scarf of Colonel Deveney looked faded and 
yellow by comparison. 

The secret of Mr. Hudson's long and tiresome 
vigils in the ante-room of the County Committee 
was explained. He had been scientifically ob- 
serving the effect of Colonel Deveney 's necktie 
on the affairs of state, and had found the connec- 
tion between white calico and public office. Mr. 
Hudson is already on the high road to fame, il 



not fortune. He practically runs the local wing 
ol his parly, and w ill surely go to the State Con- 
vention at Oakland. Speculation is rife as to 
how far he might have gone if he had only deco- 
rated himself with a white tic in the days of his 
early manhood, An able statistician connected 
with the Tax Collector's office is making a cal- 
culation on the matter. Estimating that one 
year's indulgence in white lies will take Mr. 
Hudson to Oakland, the statistician has already 
figured that by hoisting (he badge of genius at 
twenty-one, Mr. Hudson could have reached tin: 
North Pbfc in l8j<); and the end is not yet. 



THE RAILWAY WORLD. 



I ust ice Field is well. 

fudge Sawyer was never better than at present. 

F.ditor Pickering ol the (7;// is looking poorly. 
Fditor Fitch of the Bulletin is in excellent 
health. 

Fditor |ohnson of the Attn is overworking 
himself. 

Senator Tim McCarthy retains the confidence 
of his enlightened constituency. 

Editor Pixley of the Argonaut is said to lie 
writing a book on "Why I Wear the Collar." 

The health of Railroad Commissioner Carpen- 
ter continues poor. The sunshine affects him 
unpleasantly, and he is seldom seen on the 
streets. Gradual ossification of the part of the 
brain which pushes up the bump labeled con- 
scientiousness by phrenologists, is believed by 
the doctors to lie the cause of the illness of this 

deservedly popular official. His colleague, Mr. 
Humphreys, is in his usual good health. So 
long as he gets his three meals a day, and the 
demijohn swishes w hen shaken, his animal spirits 
keep up lo the normal point. 



Row-ell's Fire ok Lifr, $1.00. For salt- by all drug- 
gists. 



1) 



R. WOLFF, 



Heart Diseasks; Diseases of the Throat & Chest. 
130 Geary st. 8 to 9 a. M.I i to 3 and 6 to 7 f>. It. 



I) 



KAI.ERS IN FURS. 



ALASKA COMMERCIAL CO., 
310 Sansome Street, 
San Francisco, California. 

jrVTVIDEND NOTICE. 

Office of the Stand. ird Consolidated Mining Company, 
San FraiuUco, March z, 1884. At a meeting of the 
Board of Directors of the above-named Company, held 
this day, Dividend No. 65, of iwenty-livc tents (-.»■;« i p«i 
shan was de. tared, payable on W E L>N ESDAY, March 
12, 1884, at the office in this city, oral the farmers' Loan 
and Trust Company in New York. 

WM. WILLIS, Secretary. 

Office— Room ?q Nevada Block, No. 309 Montgom- 
ery street, San Francisco, Cal. 



Wm. M. Stewart. Wm. F. Herein. 

JTEWART ec HF.RRIN, 

ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW, 
310 Pink Street, Rooms 23 to 26. 



L 



W. S. Wood. R. H. Liovd. 

LOYD & WOOD, 

ROOMS 9 TO 13, NEVADA BLOCK. 
Northwest corner Montgomery and Pine streets. 

AW OFFICES OF 

FRANK J. SULLIVAN, 

Rooms 130 and 13? Pludan Building, 

Junction Market and O'Farrt-ll sts. 



II. TAYLOR, 

ATTORNEY AT LAW, 
490 Montgomery street, San Franrisro. 

Rooms 2 and 3. 



A 



RTHUR RODGERS, 

ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW, 
240 Montgomery st., corner of Pine. 



T AS. A. LOUTTI I , 

ATTORNEY AT LAW, 
Salz Building, Main street, Stock-ton, Cal. 

r\R. E. H. PARDEE, 

<>< ( I I.IST AND AURIST. 
Office, 5f.fi Montgomery street, cor. Clay, San Francisco. 
Large supply of Aktikk ial Eves. 



eCOUNT BROTHERS, 

STATION ERS, PRINTERS, and 

ULAN K- BOO K M A N U FACTO R F. R S, 
533 Market street, San Francisco. 



QELERY, BEEF AND IRON, 

THE GREAT TONIC AND NERVINE. 

SoM by Druggists everywhere on the coast. 
Laboratory, 537 ( 'lav street. 

PIANOS. 

r STECK, PATENT ARIAN, SCHWECHTEN. 
BENJ. CURTAZ, Agent. 
Ware Rooms, 20 O'Farrell Street. 
Pianos to rent, and sold on easy monthly installments. 



niCHARDS & II VRRISON, 

COR. SAN SOM E AND SACRAMENTO STS. 

I M I'OKTKRS OK 

FORKIGN FINE WINES, LIQUORS AND ENG- 
LISH GROCERIES. 

ACKNTS FOR 

CROSSE & BLACKWF.LL, London: 
Assorted Pickles, English Plum Puddincs 

Oriental Pickles, Gloucester Cheese, 

Assorted Sauces. Potted Meals and Fish, 

Malt and Crystal Vinegar, Vork Hams and Hacon, 
Spanish Uueen Olives, Indian Chutnies, 

Lncca Salad Oils, Met* CrystaHzed Fruits, 

Assorted Jams and Jellies, Table I -licacies. 
J. & J. ('(U.MAN, London, 
(English Double Superfine Mustard.) 
Fry's and Epp's Cocoas and Chocolate; 
Liebiu Company's Kxtrad of Meat; 

Day & Martin's London Blacking, 

Philippe & ('.maud's French Sardines. 

ALSO, 

Cup and Saucer Brand ok Japanese FJmcoi oaao Tea 

Each pound-paper containing a handsome 
painted Cup and Saucer. 



■pHE NEVADA HANK 

OF SAN FRANCISCO. 
PAID-UP CAPITAL $3,000,000 IN GOLD 

DIRECTORS: 
JaMBS C. Flood, President; 

Geo. L. Branokk, Vice-President; 
James G. Fair, James L. Flood, John W. Mackav. 

J. S. ANr.lis, Secretary and Cashier; 

Geo. Grant, Assistant Cashier; 

New Vork Agency, 6? Wall Street. / 
London Correspondents, Union Hank of London l.m'd. 

p J. KENNEDY, GROCER, 

Keeps constantly on hand a select stock of 
FANCY AND STAPLE GROCERIES, 
Native and Imported 

WINKS AND LtQUORS. 
Scotch* Bourbon and Irish Whisky, 

Kni.i ish Ai k, GutNNBSS' PORTER, Etc. 
En Quality and prices he invites comparison. Weight, 
quantity and quality warranted. Strict attention paid to 
country orders. Shipping and delivering free. 
CORNER MARKET AND TAYLOR STREETS, 
San Francisco. 

CREE ART GALLERY. 

MORRIS .* KENNEDY, 

DEALERS IN 

FINE ARTS, ARTISTS' MATERIALS, GOLD 
FRAMES, ETC., 
to and 3i Post St., Opp. Masonic Temple. 

J H. McMENOMY, 

RETAIL BUTCHER. 
The Only Dealer in Grain-Fed Reef in 
San Francisco. 
Stalls 8 & 9 California Market. 



AMERICAN WATCHES, 

Largest Assortment on the Pacific Coast. 
W. MANNING, 
S04 Market Street, Phei an BUILDING. 



c 



ANAVAN, GARH ART & NICHOLS 

NEVADA STABLES, 
1336 & 1338 Market Street, Near City Hall. 

The bail accommodation afforded for the keeping of 
Boarding Horses. Also a choice line of Livery Stock, 
with Horses and Vehicles of every description. 

Telephone No. 3159. 



fT IS A WELL-KNOWN FACT 



M. B. MORAGI1AN 

Has the finest OYSTERS, ( LAMS and ALT. KINDS 
OF SHELL-FISH to be procured anywhere in the l ily. 
Families, hotels, and public and private parlies supplied. 

STALLS— 68 AND 69 CALIFORNIA MARKET. 
( >pen all nielli. 

DIRE AND LIFE INSURANCE 

AGENCY. 

Manhattan LIFE Insurance Co. of N. Y. 
Commercial Fire Insurance Co. ok N. Y. 

JOHN LANDERS, - - - GENERAL AGENT, 

410 California street, San Francisco. 



H 



UTCHINSON & MANN 



INSURANC E AC. F.NCY, 
322 and 374 California street, 302 and 304 Sansome street, 
San Francisco. 
(Northeast corner of California and Sansome sts.) 



pURNITURE AND CARPETS 

Sold on the Installment Plan. 
Easy Terms. 
GILBERT & MOORE, 
18 & ?o Sutter Street, San Franciso • 

g W. RAVELEY, 

BOOK AND JOB PRINTER, 
518 Clay Street, 
(Between Montgomery and Sansome streets) 
SAN FRANCISCO. 



LK)SENER BROS.' 

STAR 
STAR 
STAR 



M A L T HOUSE, 
M A L T HOUSE. 
M A L T HOUSE, 



Corner Eleventh am. Foi som Streets. 



BEST OUAI.ITY BAY MALT FOR SALE. 



[OHN ROURRE, 



MERCHANT TAILOR, 



PALACE HOTEL, 6m MARKET STREET, 



San Francisco. 



DURE APPLE CIDER. 

BOILED CIDER, for conk in <* purposes. 

SWEET CIDER, direct from the press. 
HARD CIDER, 5 yean old, in qts., 
keg*, and bhU. 

PURE CIDER VINEGAR 

This Cider and Vinegar made from the pure juice of 
Apples. Merchants w ho purchase our V inegar can ROVC 
in freight, a* it CRl) be reduced before veiling, owing to its 

extraordinary strength. It is the purest and best— always 

of high test. 

FRANCIS DkLONO, 
Orchard: Novato Ranch, Marin COUNTY, 
Office : 206 & 2uS Battery Street, San Francisco. 



M. E. Jovch. Jim Okndokff. 

DALDWIN HOTEL BAR, 

BILLIARD ROOMS. 
DISPENSATORY OF SPIRITUAL COMFORT. 

CLUB ROOMS. 
Entrance from Powell and Market Streets. 

Also, Private Rooms. 



c 



RY ALOUD! SPARE NOT! 



Our Appliances 

CURE CONSUMPTION, RHEUMATISM, 
NEURALGIA, DYSPEPSIA, 

KIDNEY DISEASE, ETC. 

LIVING MEN AND WOMEN 
TESTIFY TO THE TRUTH OF THE ABOYE 
STATEMENT. 

IN SOLES ($1) CURE COLD FEET, and 

RHEUMATISM IN FEET AND ANKLES. 
Come and investigate. 

CHICAGO MAGNETIC SHIELD CO., 
106 Post street, San Francisco. 



R' 



OOS BROTHERS, 

THE LEADING CLOTHIERS, 
MANUFACTURERS AND DIRECT IMPORTERS 
Jt| 33, 35 & 37 Kearny Street, 
San Francisco. 
Branch House, n South C Street, Virginia City. 



>ALACE HOTEL. 

A. D. SHARON, LESSEE. 



The Palace Hotel occupies an entire block in the cen- 
ter of San Francisco. It is the model house of the world. 
It is Fire anil Earthquake-proof. It has five elevators. 
Every room is larye, light and air)-. The ventilation is 
perfect. A bath and closet adjoin every room. All 
roOBDS are easy of access from broad, light corridors. 
The central court, illuminated by the electric light, its 
immense glass roof, its broad lialcouies, its carriage-way, 
and its tropical plants, is a feature hitherto unknown in 
American hotels. Guests entertained on either the 
American or the European plan. The restaurant is the 
finest in the city. , 





s THE SAN FRANCISCAN 



MARCH 15, 1884. 



VOL. I.— NO. 




PRICE TEN CENTS 



CONTENTS. 



ORIGINAL ARTICLES: 

The Fall of a Society Leader [Illustrated by the Author.] 

Thomas E. Flynn i 

The Magic Ottoman Dan O'Connell 4 

American Literature Otto Greenhood 11 

New York Fashionable Follies Caroline C. Joachimsen 5 

Pharisaical Boston 12 

Saved by Slogging ? . . 2 

Dr. Cutandose's Wardrobe 6 

Heroism and Politics 7 

Stories of Great Statesmen 6 

A Court Scene 16 

Anecdote of Pen Johnston James O'Meara 3 

Hunting the Moa John Manning 12 

Ballade of the Bastille Clinton Scollard 6 

The Miser's Dream C. L. Miel 7 

The Rover J. L. Cherry 10 

The Mystic Ship William A. Hamill 16 

Our Nation Hiram Hoyt Richmond 4 

The Stage "Volage" 13 

Editorials: — Republican Apathy: Mr. Tilden and The Presidency: 

The Opera Speculation; Governor Stoneman ; Cremation 8 

selected articles: 

The Wonderful Violinist 14 

Sir Guido, the Crusader 10 

Murat's Fatal Leniency n 

" Revenez a vos Moutons" '. 15 

Thorwaldsen 3 

Attorney General Marshali 7 

Cari.yle's Advice to a Young Man 3 



THE FALL OF A